


The Elysian Fallacy

by Saranel



Category: Bleach
Genre: Action, Additional chars/pairings/tags to be added in the future, Aims to answer most (if not all) unresolved plot threads, Also Mayuri doesn't get off scot free, Also also the Visored don't get constantly shafted, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Shinji gets a glorious fight I promise u Tenka, And Uryuu is NOT ISOLATED, Canon Compliant up until 684, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Humor, If you hated 686 come be a saltmine with me, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Romance, Sado is not a fucking boxer, Sorry Kazui and Ichika you're cute but BUHBYE, btw if there's anyone you guys wanna blame this on it's her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 62,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saranel/pseuds/Saranel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It takes courage to sacrifice one's personal happiness to ensure everyone else's safety. But it also takes courage to know when it's time to fight back, to reject the reality you're presented with and fight for a better world."</p><p>-------------</p><p>As Yhwach clings to the last few shreds of his existence, Kurosaki Ichigo makes a choice to end the cycle of fear once and for all (Fix-it fic, post-canon, canon compliant until 684).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Perfect Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SO I HERD KUBO LIEKS FINALE BABBIES AND PRO BOXERS AND PPL FACING AWAY FROM THE CAMERA AND GIRLS IN APRONS AND DR. ISHIDA, SO I RITE FINALE BABBIES AND PRO BOXERS AND PPL FACING AWAY FROM THE CAMERA AND GIRLS IN APRONS AND DR. ISHIDA, I HOPE U ENJOY <3
> 
> (ofc I am not bitter how dare)
> 
> Okay, now for the real A/N: In a better universe, I would have all the time in the world to do this properly, i.e. start fixing this arc long before the final few chapters, but sadly, I do not :( Maybe one day, if I'm not too discouraged by all the undoubtedly brilliant fics that will come out in the near future, but for now, I'm tackling the end of Bleach accepting pretty much everything till 684 as canon. Some elements from 685 and 686 will be kept, but most of it will be chucked away for good. 
> 
> Just be warned that the story will not necessarily be told in chronological order, as evident by the fact that I'm starting from the very end. Think of this as a collection of character pieces that will fill in the gaps from the end of 684 onwards. While this fic will focus heavily on my favorite characters, I plan on doing at least one chapter for all the main players, to tell their stories from their own perspective. 
> 
> Cultural notes:
> 
> Zabuton: Floor pillows
> 
> Yasuda Kinen: Horse racing event taking place in Tokyo every June

 

_The pale hand reached for Zangetsu's blade, spindly fingers grasping the cold steel for dear life.  Before him, the remnants of a god ribboned out, tapering into inky black gossamer that threatened to fade into non-existence._

**_"The path… is being closed.  Ichigo… the path to a world with no fear.  The present world… Soul Society… and Hueco Mundo… they were meant to become one._ **

****

**_Life and death, twisted and fused together, they were destined to all be one and the same._ **

****

**_But now… that will likely never happen._ **

****

**_You have yourself to thank for that… Ichigo._ **

****

**_Sadly, because of all your efforts here… life and death will never lose their current forms, and all those who breathe will continue to pass each and every day by living in fear of death._ **

****

**_For all eternity."_ **

 

_A final rasp, a swan song laced with poison, and the thick, black rain began to fall, fall, fall…_

 

_"Kurosaki!  KUROSAKI!"_

_"It can't end like this."_

_"It always falls on you."_

 

* * *

 

 

_NINE YEARS LATER…_

 

**JUNE 3 RD, 2012 A.D., KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – MID AFTERNOON**

 

It seemed different, somehow.

 

Still familiar as a sight, a place distinct and easily recognizable between other places, like Home, or Park or Clinic.  However, visiting Warehouse came with its own set of Rules (no touching the floor or the exposed rods, no running) on top of already existing ones: it was yet another place "we never visit alone."

 

Some Rules were fair (no running down the stairs – a lesson learned with pain) and others weren't.  This one was beginning to make a little sense; without the solid warmth of Daddy's bigger hand, Warehouse seemed taller, its corners darker.  A vague memory of being snugly strapped against Momma's chest for one of their earlier visits wasn't helping matters, either.

 

But opportunities like this didn't come along every day, and after slipping out of Clinic without being noticed and getting so far, it would be a waste not to give it a try. 

 

Because being alone meant breaking the most unfair Rule of them all:

 

No climbing.

 

That one was a particularly difficult Rule to accept, especially for Warehouse.  Because Warehouse had little nooks that would fit smaller feet, and outcroppings, and high walls like Grandfather's Home but even more interesting, and it would be _perfect_ for climbing.

 

Momma and Daddy would never have to know.

 

Getting a hold on the crumbling beam was easier than expected.  The harsh, dark red coating on the jutting rod above was a little unpleasant to the touch, but the grip was still solid.  And yet some fear of slipping remained.  Practicing at Home had helped a lot, but sometimes hands and feet just didn't seem to do what they were told, which was annoying. 

 

But Momma had once said other children at this age didn't climb so well, which had felt really nice to hear, so practicing in Warehouse should make it easier to climb up the beams at Home and make Daddy gasp again and say that word that "we should never, _ever_ repeat."

 

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE, YOU LITTLE TURD?  AND HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN HERE ANYWAY?"

 

Jumping off the beam was not even a conscious decision, even after recognizing the voice.  Aunt Hiyori was always loud but funny and not mean, but she knew Momma and Daddy, and if she told them about this it would mean being Grounded, which didn't happen very often, but was boring and unpleasant when it did.

 

Running away and hurrying back to Clinic seemed like the best option, all the while hoping that Aunt Hiyori hadn't taken a good look. 

 

Overall, the operation had been a bust, which was a shame.  It was an ever bigger shame that lingering just a few seconds longer would've netted some much-desired praise, as Aunt Hiyori said, "Heh… Snot-nosed punk runs like the wind…"

 

Momma would have been proud.

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 3 RD, 2012 A.D., OUTSIDE THE KUROSAKI CLINIC, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – MID AFTERNOON**

 

"Why do you always walk like that when you're wearing a dress?"

 

Rukia's steps came to a halt, her eyes seeking out Renji.  "Like what?"

 

Grinning, Renji pushed his shoulders back and puffed his chest out.  "Like this," he said, performing what Rukia could only assume was an exaggeration of her own walk, his lower body swaying side to side.  "It's like watching a bell on legs."

 

Decidedly subdued by the mockery, Rukia locked her knees and pressed her arms tightly around her torso, scurrying forward to the entrance to the clinic.  "Do not.  Shut up," she muttered, ringing the bell.

 

Truth be told, it was refreshing to be out of her Shihakushō for the first time in a long while.  The slim sundress, so reminiscent of the one Ishida had made for her a decade ago, lent itself to a more relaxed gait. 

 

And alright, perhaps she _had_ been trying to make the skirt sway like a bell.  Only a _little_ bit.

 

"Fine, I'll keep it zipped for the rest of the day, how's that?" Renji said, chuckling.

 

True to his word, he stayed silent and she was spared from any additional commentary as the sound of footsteps came behind the glass door.  Ichigo's distorted silhouette entered into view, slowly becoming clearer as he approached and pushed the door open, a bright smile on his lips.

 

"Yo!"

 

"Hey!" she greeted back.

 

As Ichigo took them in, his gaze seemed to linger on her for just a little longer.  It barely lasted a second, but she saw it, the way his smile faltered, the shadow that passed over his eyes.  As swiftly as it had come it disappeared, and when his smile returned, the artifice of it strained his face.  With a swift tilt of his head, he beckoned them inside.

 

If Renji had noticed the strange behavior as well, he didn't say anything, and simply followed Ichigo into the clinic.  For a moment, Rukia hesitated to follow, unsure if what she had seen merited any concern or if it had been little more than a trick of the light.  Logic dictated that there was no reason whatsoever for Ichigo's sudden shift in mood.  Her gut instinct told a different story.   

 

Closing the door behind her, Rukia stepped inside, eyes trained on Ichigo.  "Oh-hoh, I see this place is just as popular as ever!  Why…" she said, cupping her hand around her ear.  "Yup, I think I even hear some crickets inside!"

 

Though it didn't make him laugh, the pointed remark worked as intended: it pulled Ichigo straight out of his oddly-timed reverie, his face now animated with what she knew was genuine emotion.  "This is an _emergency clinic_ … So being empty is a _good_ thing," he drawled.  "If you're done with the stand-up routine, feel free to come inside."

 

They followed the ambient babble of what sounded like television into the living room, where Tatsuki and Mizuiro were sprawled onto the large couch.  Tatsuki was busying herself with her phone, while the latter gently bobbed his head to the tune of the music pouring out of his headphones.  A pleasant, borderline familiar aroma Rukia couldn't quite place was wafting from the open kitchen door.  On the other side, the sounds of muted conversation were punctuated by the odd clang of something hitting against metal repeatedly.  The noise and the scent stirred a memory awake, and with a pang of nostalgia, Rukia suddenly recognized it as the sound of poprcorn kernels being cooked.  One of the more odd delicacies of this world, but one she had enjoyed trying nonetheless.   

 

It was Keigo who spotted their arrival first, seemingly on his way out of the kitchen, emptying a fistful of popcorn into his waiting mouth.  His gaze fell upon them before Ichigo had even said a word, and he rushed forward, eyes alight with an intensity that made Rukia take a discreet step backward.  "AHH, RUKIA!" he said, drawing the attention of his two friends.  "A PLEASURE AS ALWAYS, RUKIA!  MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME—" He indicated the couch.  "—NEXT TO ME IF YOU WA—"

 

His sentence was cut short when a projectile magazine landed on his head, courtesy of Tatsuki.  "Don't go gettin' overly familiar!"

 

 Always the more composed of the three, Mizuiro pulled down his headphones, smile at the ready.  "Rukia, it's been a while!" he said.  "I like what you've done with your hair, it really suits you!"

 

"You mean what she's _neglected_ to do with it?" Ichigo quipped as he led them deeper into the living room, hands in his pockets.  "It's been the same for nine years now."

 

Mizuiro shrugged.  "It looked just a touch longer to me," he said, then turned to Renji.  "Hi.  It's… Renji, right?"

 

Renji waved at the trio casually.  "Yup, Renji.  Guess this goes to show how often Ichigo talks about _me_ ," he said, smirking at the offending party.

 

"Right, because the Tiniest Dictator over here gives me _plenty_ of time off to visit and have lengthy discussions about you with these guys," Ichigo said, jutting his thumb toward her.

 

All earlier feelings of concern evaporating on the spot, Rukia was in the middle of contemplating the most painful way possible to retaliate, when her plans were cut short by Karin and Yuzu bustling out of the kitchen.

 

"Out of the way, comin' through!"

 

"The popcorn and soda has finally arrived!"

 

Laden with the most ridiculously large bucket of popcorn Rukia had ever seen, Yuzu came to a halt right before her, the top of the popcorn mound bobbing precariously.  "Ahhh, Rukia!" she said, her face lighting up with a smile.  "How've you been?  It's been almost a year since we saw each other!"

 

There was no accusation in her tone, merely a hint of well-intended complaint, but it brought forth a blush in Rukia's cheeks all the same.  "I know, it seems like forever since I've last seen you guys," she said, flashing Yuzu an apologetic smile. 

 

The realities of her position and duties in the Gotei left little room for social calls, especially to the human world, and though she took great pride in the work that was being done to restore the Seireitei, it didn't make the lengthy separation from her earth-bound friends any easier.  Privately, she resolved to do her utmost to manage her time better in the future, try and fit even short visits to Karakura into her schedule as often as she could.

 

"But uhh…" Rukia went on, feeling her ears grow warmer.  "You've… you've gotten big since then…?"

 

"Nice save," Karin said, smirking at her.  "Wait till dad sees you, he's gonna _flip_."

 

"So is it starting anytime soon?" Renji said, taking a seat between Tatsuki and Mizuiro.

 

"There's still some time," Mizuiro said.  "But judging by the non-stop promos, it should be getting close.  They'll probably do a pre-match show to introduce the fighters and all."

 

Keigo plopped onto the couch, digging a hand into the gigantic bucket of popcorn Yuzu had laid out on the table.  "Maaaan, all this fuss over _one_ match?" he said, tossing some kernels into his mouth. 

 

"It's the _World Heavyweight Title_ match _,_ " Tatsuki said, staring at him incredulously.

 

"Hate to break it to ya, but the only boxing nerd in this room is _you_ ," Keigo said, grinning.  "And Chad, obviously."

 

"Well feel free to go take a nap upstairs, too, if it's boring you so much," Tatsuki snapped.  "We're still waiting on people, anyway."

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 3 RD, 2012 A.D., KARAKURA GENERAL HOSPITAL, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – MID AFTERNOON**

 

Yamaguchi Kiyo sauntered down the corridor, coming to a stop outside the glossy white door.  She gave it a gentle rap, then waited for the familiar voice from within to grant her entry, only to be met with silence.

 

"Dr. Ishida?" she called, but received no answer yet again.  Tentatively, she tried the door handle, peeking in through the ajar door discreetly.  "Dr. Ishida?"

 

The Doctor's office was empty, and curiously enough, there were no signs of any recent activity within the office.  No tell-tale coffee mug, no laptop and assorted paraphernalia, no paperwork scattered across the desktop.  As far as she could tell, the Doctor hadn't even shown up for work today.

 

Kiyo closed the door behind her and made her way over to the third floor's reception, where a nurse was clicking away at her keyboard, the glare of the computer screen reflected in her glasses.  "Excuse me, I was told I'd find Dr. Ishida—"

 

"Out for today, I'm afraid," the nurse said, glancing away from her work for a moment to flash her an apologetic smile.  "You hadn't heard?"

 

"Heard what?"

 

"Today was the big day, this TV program the doc supposedly couldn't miss.  The whole floor's had their ear talked off about it all week."

 

Kiyo's eyebrows arched high at the insinuation.  "The Director _allowed_ this?"  

 

Chuckling, the nurse glanced over her shoulder toward either side of the corridor.  It seemed to Kiyo that she was checking for any incoming staff in the vicinity, as she proceeded to lean in a bit closer to whisper, "You know how it is when it's family.  The Director's gotten soft on us lately," she said, pulling back.  "Not that the break isn't well-deserved, mind you," she hurried to add.  "Dr. Ishida is nothing if not a hard worker."

 

* * *

  

**JUNE 3 RD, 2012 A.D., KUROSAKI RESIDENCE, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – MID AFTERNOON**

 

"I'LL GET IIIIIIIIT!"

 

As Yuzu swept past him to answer the door, Ichigo sunk deeper into the soft couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his thighs.  "What's with the leg?  You okay?" he asked Tatsuki, nudging her with one foot.

 

Propped up on top of the coffee table, Tatsuki's bandaged right calf was lit up under the glowing arc of Sōten Kisshun.  Waving one hand airily, she turned to him.  "Just a stupid training injury.  Orihime insisted on treating it herself," she said.  "Can still kick your ass even with a limp, in case you were wondering."

 

Deciding not to dignify that with a response, Ichigo shoved a handful of buttered popcorn into his mouth, then offered the bowl to Tatsuki, who simply crinkled her nose and shook her head. 

 

Behind her, Ichigo saw Mizuiro slipping out his headphones again and looking straight past them.  "Ohhh, if it isn't Ishida!" he said.  "Didn't know if you were gonna make it."

 

Following Mizuiro's line of sight, Ichigo turned to find Yuzu and Ishida ambling into the living room. 

 

The reaction was involuntary: as the case was with every one of his visits to the human world as of late, Ichigo was immediately stricken by the visible change in Ishida.  Though younger-looking than his twenty-six years, he looked more the part of the adult with each passing day.

 

But beyond the merely observable, there was something about the way he carried himself.  The Ishida he had known in highschool had been comfortable walking in the shadows, unnoticed.  Today, the air of effortless ease that surrounded him demanded the attention of the entire room.  As he exchanged hellos with everyone, all ambient sounds faded into the background, and Ichigo could do nothing but stare.

 

Ishida looked serene, in charge of himself.

 

Happy, even.

 

_"Didn't know if you were gonna make it."_

 

The world slowed down to a near stop, and he could hear it again, the sound of the heavy black rain pouring down in torrents, flooding the entire world until he was drowning, choking in it—

 

"Look!"

 

He heard Rukia's voice as though from afar, distorted, the familiar sound pulling him out of the thick, syrupy haze.  Eyelids blinking rapidly, Ichigo watched as she hurried over to Ishida, her fists tightly clenched around the sides of her skirt.  She held it stretched wide, a broad grin on her face, then spun around once, the skirt fluttering alongside her movement.

 

Ishida chuckled at the sight, setting aside the magazine he'd been carrying under one arm.  "I knew it would suit you really well, Kuchiki-san," he said.

 

More to keep himself anchored to reality than for any other reason, Ichigo forced the incoming wave of nausea into the back of his mind and spoke up, his drawl loud enough to be heard throughout the room.  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said.  "What he's not telling you is that this is probably a seven-year-old design or something."

 

One eyebrow arched over the rim of his glasses, Ishida shifted his gaze over to him. "A classic _never_ goes out of style, Kuros—" The words died on his lips at once, the second eyebrow joining its twin in clear surprise.

 

"What?" Ichigo said, brow creasing under the peculiar scrutiny of Ishida's gaze.

 

"Are we not talking about the state of Kurosaki's hair?" Ishida said, turning to Renji and Rukia for answers.

 

If there was anything that could have dissolved any and all remaining sensation of unease within him, it was the mere mention of _that_ subject.  Nearly upending the bowl of popcorn as he rose up on his knees, Ichigo pointed a finger straight at Ishida in warning.  "There is _nothing_ wrong with my hair!" he said, a chorus of laughter serenading his exclamation.

 

"Just going prematurely bald, then?" Ishida quipped.

 

"Ichigo had a little _accident_ ," Renji said, a little _too_ eagerly.

 

He'd never been particularly vain about it, certainly nowhere near as much as Renji was, but the loss of his painstakingly grown-out hair was still a sore subject.  'Little accident' seemed like too light a description for it. 

 

"Still struggling with the simplest of kidō, Kurosaki?" Ishida said, working out the subtext at once.

 

Lips pursed, Ichigo straddled the backrest of the couch and leapt to the floor, marching forward.  "I'll show you struggling," he spat at Ishida, then promptly held his palm open between them, where a rapidly growing, pulsating sphere of yellow energy bloomed into being.  "Whaddya call _that_?"

 

Clearly unimpressed, Ishida glanced at the sphere over the rim of his glasses.  "Unstable, by the looks of it," he said, eyeing the crackling outline warily.

 

Renji apparently agreed.  "Oi, Ichigo; hold back a little!"

 

"I _am_!" Ichigo hurried to say, even as the sphere continued to balloon up to the size of a beach ball.  "It's just this stupid gigai—"

 

"YOU'RE GONNA BLOW THE WHOLE HOUSE UP, YOU MORON!"

 

"SHUT UP, NO I'M _NOT_ , I JUST—"

 

But he never managed to finish that sentence as just then, the sphere lost all semblance of structure and ruptured in a loud, but thankfully contained explosion.  The less fortunate part was the fact that it blew up right into Ishida's face.

 

With a pained cry, Ishida took a step back, one hand draped over his eyes.  There's was a very brief moment of silence, and then everything happened at once.  It became impossible to make out a single word in the ensuing moments, Ichigo's apologies, Ishida's cursing and everyone else's worried cries blending into a unified, unintelligible din.

 

"What _happened_ , is everything—?" a voice suddenly cut in through the noise, and Ichigo saw Inoue clutching the doorframe leading out of the kitchen.  Her eyes snapped open wide the second she took the scene in. "Uryū-kun!"  

 

As the commotion slowly died down, a pink-cheeked Ichigo averted his gaze from Inoue checking up on Ishida, and immediately regretted it: in between Rukia rolling her eyes at him and Renji chortling, he might as well have endured Ishida's withering stare a little longer.

 

"It's… it's not so bad," Inoue was saying, a tremulous smile on her lips as her fingers swept past Ishida's blackened face and glasses, going over his partly burnt eyebrows.  "I'll set it right once I'm done with Tatsuki-chan's leg."

 

Thankfully, Inoue's presence not only had a calming effect on Ishida, but when he marched off to the bathroom to wash up, the incident was mostly forgotten in the light of her catching up with Renji and Rukia.

 

"…oh, that reminds me!" Inoue said.  "Uryū-kuuuuuuun!  Did you get the magazine?"

 

Ishida's muffled voice came from within the bathroom, and Ichigo was able to make out the words 'coffee table.'  Inoue scurried over to fetch the magazine in question, her face aglow with pride as she flipped it open before Renji and Rukia and pointed at a particular page.

 

"…Pictured, Ishida Uryū in his atelier that sits above the small crafts shop on Himeji Street," Renji muttered, reading out loud.  "You guys still run the crafts store?" he said, turning to Inoue.

 

"It doesn't turn a huge profit," Inoue said, shrugging as she undid the apron she had borrowed from Yuzu when she'd arrived.  "Sometimes it barely covers the cost of rent and the clerk's paycheck, haha.  But we didn't want to let it go."

 

"Damn, Ishida; I didn't know you were so photogenic!" Rukia called out with a grin.  "Looking goooood."

 

It didn't take an actual visual to picture Ishida's reaction as he muttered something unintelligible from the other room.  Ichigo could see him as clearly as if he stood before them, pushing his glasses back and flushing red.  Over Inoue's shoulder, Ichigo skimmed through the article praising Ishida's small but tasteful collection of handcrafted clothes, unable to smother a smile.  In light of nearly burning off his friend's face, Ichigo decided against asking when the cape collection was going to be released.

 

"Kurosaki-kun, can you give this back to Yuzu-chan?" Inoue said, folding the apron in her hands into a neat little bundle.

 

"Thanks for the cookies and all, but I told you, you didn't have to; we already had plenty of snacks," Ichigo said.

 

"Well, they're for Tatsuki-chan," she said, handing him the apron.  "You know she can't have any of those sugared, salty—" Upon seeing the mildly guilty expression on his face, Inoue grimaced.  "You didn't offer her any of those snacks, did you?"

 

"……No?"

 

"Oh, Kurosaki-kun…"

 

"She didn't eat any!"

 

"I'm perfectly capable of saying 'no,' Orihime," Tatsuki called, turning to look at them over her shoulder.  "Even if Ichigo struggles to follow a simple set of instructions."

 

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo decided not to engage.  "Can't seem to do _anything_ right today," he muttered, then hurried on to add, "You can let some of them go by," as Rukia opened her mouth to weigh in.  

 

Whether she planned on retorting he never found out, as the phone rang at that moment, and Ichigo hurried to answer, grateful for the opportunity to escape further scrutiny.  The caller on the other end of the line was not a familiar voice, and though the request was a little odd, Ichigo didn't question it.

 

"Oi!" he called to the room at large.  "Hospital calling for Dr. Ishida," he said, jiggling the receiver in his hand.

 

Still engaged in conversation with Renji and Rukia, Inoue paused for a second, then pawed at her skirt pocket, retrieving her phone.  "Oh, _shoot_ , I left it on silent," she said, grimacing at what Ichigo could only assume were _several_ missed calls.  Slipping it back in place, she dashed over to him and gave a quick apology before picking up the receiver.  "Hello?"

 

"I thought Orihime was a physic?" Renji said once Ichigo rejoined them, bobbing his head once toward Inoue.

 

"Physicist," Rukia corrected him.

 

"Yes, that.  Since when is she a doctor?"

 

"Inoue got a Ph. D a couple of months ago," Ichigo said.

 

In the second of silence that stretched in between his explanation and Renji's reaction, it dawned on Ichigo that it was unlikely Renji would be familiar with the term.  Instead of looking confused, however, Renji adopted an expression akin to someone being let in on a scandalizing secret.  Almost immediately, he schooled his expression to one of mild disapproval and leaned in to whisper to him, "Dude, not cool; that stuff's private.  Lower your voice."

 

It was clear from the splash of color on his cheeks that Renji had _completely_ misinterpreted the title.  Ichigo was about to ask what on earth he was talking about, when Renji's earlier comment clicked, and it became obvious he was under the impression Inoue was a _patient_ in the hospital, being treated for something of a delicate nature.  "………A PHILOSOPHER'S DOCTORATE."

 

" _Yeah_ Renji, geez!" Rukia piled on.

 

"Oh, because _you_ knew what a Ph. D was," Ichigo said, arching an eyebrow at her before clearing up the confusion.  "Doctor is a general title you get when you're qualified to teach at a university level.  Physicians are called _Medical_ Doctors."

 

"Then why's the hospital calling her?" Renji said.

 

"The university is conducting a study in collaboration with the hospital," Ishida said, sauntering back into the living room as he patted his face dry with a towel.  "Orihime was in charge of calibrating their MRI; she left behind instructions for today, but I guess the technician must've misplaced her notes or something to that effect."  

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo saw Renji glancing at Rukia questioningly, only to have her shrug back, equally at a loss over what was being discussed.

 

The conversation soon shifted into playful ribbing over the clear favoritism Ishida's father was showing Inoue: sparing no expense for the refurbished office he had secured for her in the hospital, allowing her as flexible as a schedule as he could, and various other small acts that betrayed how much he doted on his daughter-in-law.  And despite the many and colorful adjectives Ishida often had to share in regards to his father, it was clear by the barest hints of a smile on his face that he approved of this behaviour whole-heartedly.  

 

Ichigo's attention was drawn away from the discussion by the sound of approaching footsteps, and he turned to find his father stumbling downstairs.  Excusing himself, he made his way over to the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall.

 

"Did we wake up the kid?" he asked.

 

It took his father a moment to respond, his eyes still glazed over while he seemingly stared at the blank wall, unseeing.  "Hnnn?"

 

"The explosion," Ichigo said when his father turned to look at him, a glimmer of worry in his eyes.  "Did it wake her up?"

 

"No, no… She is, ah… she's still…"

 

It was then that Ichigo realized, much to his horror, that his father had yet to pounce on Rukia and be his typical, embarrassing self.  Which could only mean that something else was gnawing at him, and Ichigo had an inkling as to what that might be.  "Dad… Where is Midori?"

 

The confrontational tone broke any and all vestiges of self-control his old man had left.  Grasping the banister, teeth digging into his lower lip, he leaned in to whisper in a tortured, hushed voice.  "I don't know!"

 

"YOU _LOST_ HER?  HOW THE HELL DO YOU JUST _LOSE_ A SLEEPING KID?"

 

"Okay, you have _no_ idea how quiet the little runt is!  She hardly ever speaks as it is and let me tell you that is _not_ normal for a kid her age okay I raised three children _three_ Ichigo I know that stuff don't look at me like that these are the _facts_ all three of you were talking up a storm when you were toddlers it's just how things _are_!  And she just acts all cute and quiet with her big pretty eyes like a sweet little girl and then just _BLAM_ I didn't even realize—"

 

The stirrings of their argument hadn't gone unnoticed by the small crowd that was gathered in the living room, and it was Karin who stepped forward to defuse the situation. "What's going on?"

 

Before his father had a chance to start moping to try and garner Karin's sympathy –a nearly impossible feat as it was- Ichigo turned to her first. "Dad lost Midori."

 

" _WHAT_."

 

The news travelled throughout the living room like wildfire.

 

"Aw, shit."

 

"Lost who?"

 

Even Inoue put her call on hold, placing one hand over the receiver.  "Midori-chan is missing?"

 

" _Geez_ , it's a wonder any of us ever made it past infancy!"

 

"YOU MAY THINK THEY'RE JUST WORDS, BUT THEY HURT DADDY JUST AS MUCH AS STICKS AND STONES, KARIN."

 

It was Rukia who put an end to the uproar, raising her voice above the din.  "Okay, everyone, let's not panic: spread out in the house and the clinic.  She's probably just hiding somewhere."

 

As everyone nodded in unison and stepped in line, Renji walked up to her, muttering into her ear.  He kept his voice low and discreet, but Ichigo was close enough to make out his words.  "Shouldn't we be able to sense her spiritual signature if she was close?"

 

Rukia let out a sigh in begrudging agreement.  "Probably.  Still… considering who her parents are, would you _really_ be surprised if she can cloak her presence, even on a subconscious level?" 

 

"……Good point."

Within seconds, cries of 'Midori!' echoed throughout the entire house.  Curtains were pulled aside, nooks and crannies were thoroughly examined, furniture all but upturned in search of any signs of the girl.

 

Ichigo was just pushing himself up to his feet after checking the underside of the couch, when Keigo approached him.

_"_ Who are we looking for, again?" he whispered.

 

"Midori," Ichigo said, now coming to the realization Keigo had no idea who she was.  By the time he and Mizuiro had arrived, Midori had already been dropped off at their place and had been –allegedly as it turned out- taking a nap.  "She's a little kid, looks around three, maybe four years old.  Brown hair down to her shoulders, dark skin, grey eyes."

 

"All right, but who is—?"

 

"Urahara-san's daughter."

 

"Urah—?  The _shopkeeper_?  He has a _kid_?"

 

Ichigo let out a snort; he couldn't really fault Keigo for his reaction.  "Yeah, I'm still having trouble believing it, myself.  Well… Actually he has _three_ kids, but the other two are adults now.  He dropped Midori off a few hours ago to go pick up the other two from the airport."

 

Keigo still seemed to be confused about the supplied information.  "Isn't he dead?  I mean… not _dead-dead_ , more like… _you_ dead."

 

"He is."

 

"…And… the mother is 'dead,' too?"

 

"Yup.  You've seen her around: Yoruichi-san."

 

"……The uber hot chick that can turn into a cat?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Sheeeesh.  Lucky bastard… But seriously, how does that even… work?"

 

Getting tired of Keigo trailing behind him all over the house and _certain_ he didn't really want to answer that last question, Ichigo turned to him warily.  "What do you mean, Keigo?"

 

"The whole baby thing!  They're dead!  Or… spirits, _whatever_."

 

"It works the same way it does anywhere else."

 

"……Are you telling me that Soul Babies happen when, what, the Soul Sperm meets the Soul Egg?"

 

There was really no way to respond to this other than give Keigo his most withering stare, and before any more inane questions could be posed, the sound of the doorbell ringing rippled throughout the house, effectively spreading a tense, eerie silence in its wake.

 

Ichigo's eyes met Rukia's as she sprinted back from the clinic, sporting an identical grimace to the one he wore.  Trying to think positively for once, instead of the more likely, dreaded scenario, Ichigo shrugged at her hopefully.  "You don't think…?"

 

"Yes, because toddlers have the good sense to return after they've escaped," Rukia drawled.  "She can't even reach the doorbell!"

 

"Some days, I'm still surprised _you_ can," Ichigo muttered at her, deciding then and there not to prolong the inevitable.  Walking over to the door, he took a deep breath in then yanked it open, coming face-to-face what with they had all feared the second the chime of the doorbell had pierced the air.

 

"Heeeeeey, it's Urahara-san!" Ichigo called out to the house.  "EVERYONE, IT'S URAHARA-SAN AND YORUICHI-SAN AND EVERYONE ELSE.  THEY'RE HERE.  _RIGHT NOW_."

 

As the five former and current members of the shōten lingered behind the door, sharing identical looks of bewilderment, it was Yoruichi-san who broke the awkward silence.  "You saw us _three_ hours ago," she said, blinking at him.

 

If her expression betrayed that she was confused by his greeting, the welcome she then received by everyone else only made the situation worse.

 

"Eeeeyyyyyyy, Urahara-san!"

 

"WELCOME YOU GUYYYYYSS."

"HEEEYYYYYY YOU BROUGHT URURU AND JINTA I LOVE URURU AND JINTA I'M SO GLAD THEY'RE HERE I THINK I'M GOING TO GO TAKE A WALK NOW TO COOL MY HEAD OFF." 

 

In response to the onslaught of violently cheerful greetings, Tessai leaned in over Urahara-san's shoulder to take a careful sniff of the interior.  "Has someone been… _baking_?"

 

Feeling his entire back breaking out in cold sweat, Ichigo let out a high-pitched, almost hysterical peal of laughter.  "Ahahaha, classic Tessai!"

 

As Yoruichi-san's narrowed eyes landed on him, Urahara-san hurried to put his hands up in an attempt to placate the incoming explosion.  "Don't look at me; I didn't sell them _anything_."

 

Still rooted at the spot, Ichigo tried to will his frantic mind to come up with something, _anything_ to distract them with, before they could start questioning why they were being held up at the entrance.  He was just beginning to construct the most elaborate, humiliatingly transparent lie, when salvation arrived in the form of Hirako, of all people.

 

"Someone lose this?"

 

To Ichigo's utter relief, he saw that Hirako was carrying Midori in one arm, the little girl's face contorted into a sheepish scowl. 

 

He wasted no time trying to make sense of how that had even transpired, the short-lived feeling of elation giving way to panic: somehow, he needed to communicate to Hirako to keep quiet about whatever circumstances had led to him finding the kid.

 

"Wha—? _Midori_?  Why are you—?" Yoruichi-san began, when something within her clicked.  "WHY IS SHE WITH HIRAKO?" Her cutting glare homed in on his father before she turned back to Hirako.

 

"Hey," Hirako said, raising his free hand in a plea for peace.  "I just found her runnin' outta Hiyori's—"

 

His words came to a stop as soon as he spotted Ichigo making sharp, cutting motions with one palm across his throat, but Hirako either didn't understand the signal, or simply didn't want to get involved in this mess.  Quite frankly, given the look in Yoruichi-san's eyes, Ichigo couldn't even fault him.

 

"Yeaaaaah, I have no idea what _this_ is all about," he said, gesturing vaguely at Ichigo.  "I just came to deliver the munchkin." He made a move to hand Midori back to her father's waiting arms, but the little girl, her eyes suddenly round with delight, shot right past him and jumped into Ururu's arms, instead. 

 

If Ichigo was taken aback by the appearance of a rare, beaming smile on Ururu's lips once the toddler buried herself into her embrace, it was nothing compared to the shock someone else was currently experiencing.

 

"Midori…" Urahara-san said, sounding close to tears.  " _WHY_?"

 

"She sees _your_ ugly mug every day," Jinta said with a cackle, kissing Midori's little hand when she reached out for him.  "Of course she's missed us."

 

Though the cold fury still lingered somewhere in her eyes, Yoruichi-san didn't press the matter any further and pinched her daughter's chin gently, giving her an only mildly scolding stare. "We'll be talking about why she was running around Hiyori's _later_."

 

Ichigo didn't know whether to applaud or not when Midori hid her face into Ururu's neck as they all stepped indoors.  It was a perfectly child-like reaction, but something about the cool intelligence that always seemed to be reflected in the little girl's eyes made him think this was nothing but a perfectly executed act.  Urahara-san had once mentioned development in Souls was the same as what one might expect from a human of the same visible age, but Ichigo wouldn't be surprised to hear that the girl in question was a little sharper than her contemporaries.

 

Even armed with that knowledge, he couldn't deny it was still a little disconcerting, witnessing the decelerated growth of a child born of two souls: though she had arrived to this world barely a year after the end of the war, Midori still had the appearance on a human toddler.  Equally disconcerting was the fact that every time he looked in a mirror, Ichigo now saw the face of a nineteen year old (or whereabouts) staring back at him, and not the twenty-six year old man his time on earth dictated he should look like.

 

For once, after almost twelve years of dealings with Shinigami, Ichigo was beginning to fully grasp the concept of mortality, the way death was an inextricable part of a Shinigami's life and occupation. 

 

His friends were aging at a rate that now seemed frenetic to his eyes.  His sisters were already physically older than he was, for crying out loud. 

 

He understood now, why his father had chosen to return to the human shell Urahara-san had once crafted for him.  He understood why Urahara-san himself still doted on Jinta and Ururu, even though they were now adults in their own right.

 

He understood now, what Rukia had told him once, many years ago, about how fragile human life was. 

 

 _Even more fragile than any of them realizes._   _If only they knew, if only—_

 

"You gonna close the door or what?"

 

Blinking, Ichigo turned to Renji and took a second to parse his words, then nodded sharply and shut the door with a loud thud.  He could feel Rukia's eyes on him, but he avoided her gaze, focusing instead on his old man, who was patting Urahara-san on the back and muttering something about 'the pain of being a father to spirited daughters.' 

 

Somewhere in the midst of exchanging hellos, Hirako bid them all goodbye despite everyone's insistence that he was welcome to stay, mentioning that he was visiting Hiyori today. 

 

"Ikumi-san says hello, by the way.  Hiyori's wordin' was a little more vulgar, to be honest, but I figure that's what she meant.  Give 'er a call sometime," he shot at Ichigo as he headed for the door.  "Have fun, y'all.  See ya around."

 

"Four hundredth and fifty seventh time's the charm, eh, Hirako?" Yoruichi-san called at his departing form, a smirk on her lips.

 

Hirako lingered by the threshold long enough to give her an only half-hearted glare.  "….Shut up," he muttered, then closed the door behind him.

 

By the time everyone had settled down, the doorbell rang for one last time, revealing a harried-looking Chad who apologized for the delay at once.  After a quick hello at the grown ups who had retired to the kitchen, Chad hurried back into the living room.

 

" _Finally_ , the man of the hour!" Keigo said.  "Your big debut's about to air!" His words were accompanied by what could only be described as the world's most ostentatious and cringe-worthy wink.

 

"My what?" Chad asked.

 

Mizuiro let out a snort, grinning at Chad as he took his seat by the couch.  "The music video."

 

There was a momentary pause on Chad's features, then Mizuiro's words connected.  "Oh, good grief…" he said, cupping his palms over his reddening face.

 

"I still can't believe you wound up becoming the most famous of all of us," Keigo said.

 

" _Us_?" Mizuiro said, searching for Ichigo's eye to share in the disbelief.  "Were you ever seriously in contention?"

 

"LAST I CHECKED, _US_ INCLUDES ME AND YOU, SMARTASS!"

"Quiet, it's starting!"

Ichigo had never before witnessed anyone as singularly uncomfortable as Chad seemed to be at that very moment, when the TV screen lit up with the scene of a woebegone-looking boxing ring, where a lone fighter was training.  He was no actor, but as far as Ichigo was concerned, Chad was pulling it off more than convincingly. 

 

Already an indie sensation for years, Chad's band had made their first true breakthrough to mainstream when a producer had asked for the rights to use one of their tracks in an upcoming film's soundtrack.  The rest, as they say, was history: Hasegawa Kenzo's biopic, airing soon after his first shot at the World Title match tonight, was slated to be a success. 

 

On top of providing his musical talent, Chad was one of the two band members making an actual appearance in the music video tie-in for the movie.  When he had first received the casting call, Ichigo remembered Chad quipping that he hoped his abuelo would forgive him this one transgression of using his strength for personal gain.

 

"Geez, you look more the part than any of these scrubs do," Renji said, to the agreement of all present.

 

"Yeah, Chad," Ichigo said, giving him a playful elbowing.  " _You_ should've been a boxer."

 

Chad's only response was to scoff gently and continue to watch the screen through the cracks between his fingers.

 

"What the hell?" Tatsuki said, glaring at the room at large.  "I thought we all gathered to watch Chad's music video and cheer him on; what's with the attitude?"

 

Behind her, Inoue sauntered toward the couch playfully, her long hair dropping over one shoulder as she leaned over the backrest to meet Tatsuki's eye.  " _Did_ we, though?"

 

Now looking utterly lost, Tatsuki turned to them one by one, alarmed by the sea of identical smirks that were all directed at her.  "W-what?"

 

Wordlessly, but still grinning broadly, Inoue pointed at the TV screen.  With the music video now over, a few last-minute ads were being broadcast in preparation for the match.  Including the long-awaited first ad for the all-star Japanese Olympic athletes that were slated to compete in London in a few months' time.

 

"Oh, Orihime…" Tatsuki said, hiding her crimson face behind her palms and sinking low into the couch as a dynamic shot of her in her boxing gear flashed through the screen, subtitled by:

 

_Arisawa Tatsuki, Women's Boxing._

 

Letting out a squeal, Inoue wrapped her arms around Tatsuki's head gave her a tight squeeze.  "Tatsuki-chan's gonna be in the Olympiiiiiics!"

 

Emerging from within Inoue's embrace with a deep flush as brilliant as a glowing sunset, Tatsuki turned to him.  Her tone was only marginally accusatory.  "You _knew_ about this?"

 

Ichigo could only shrug, dissolving into laughter when Tatsuki threw a pillow at him.  She tried in vain not to smile at the applause and compliments that poured forth following the ad, Keigo straight-out emitting a celebratory whistle.

 

"Ohhhh, I know what we need!" Inoue said, standing upright and bouncing on her feet.  "Big group picture, now that Sado-kun is here and we're all together!"

Her suggestion was greeted with a round of groans at first, but it didn't take long before they all acquiesced, once Tatsuki made the very valid point that the only way to quiet her down was to get it over with.

"But you're gonna have to spread out around this couch, I am _not_ moving," she said, folding her hands atop her belly and lying back with a smirk on her face.

 

It took a while to find a configuration that worked for a small crowd gathered around an even smaller couch, but eventually, they agreed on the taller members taking a seat on the zabuton by the floor.  Someone called for Urahara-san to come take their picture, and it was then Ichigo noticed Ishida was still standing on the side.

"Oi, Ishida!  _Today_ ," Ichigo said, motioning sharply toward the couch.

 

"I'm not going to be in the picture," Ishida said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

 

"Why the hell not?"

 

"BECAUSE YOU SINGED OFF MY EYEBROWS, KUROSAKI.  _NOT_ AN OCCASION I WANT IMMORTALIZED."

 

Ichigo didn't know what was more pathetic; the amount of time it took to resolve the argument, or the fact that Ishida, at one point, agreed to be in the photo only if his back was turned to the camera.

"OKAY, NOW YOU'RE JUST ACTING LIKE A BRAT."

 

The retort ready in his mouth, Ishida swivelled around to respond, coming to a sudden halt when Inoue calmly stepped up to him.  "Orih—"

 

Whatever he was about to say never left his lips as Inoue began to run her fingers through his front bangs, quickly rearranging them so they swept across his forehead.  Taking a step back, she admired the result of her handiwork with a proud grin, her clever fingers adjusting a few last tendrils of hair.  "There.  No sign of missing eyebrows now.  Will you take a picture with us?" she said, smiling softly at him.  "Wouldn't be right without you."

 

On any other occasion, Ichigo would've never let him live this down, but the sooner they took the damn photo, the sooner they could relax and watch the match.

 

And so he kept his mouth shut, as Ishida's eyes glazed over and he let out a noise that sounded like, "Mmmffnngh," then let Inoue guide him to the front by the hand, holding her gaze the entire time.

 

"Okay now," Urahara-san said once they had all settled down, his phone camera at the ready.  "Everyone smile and say: Isshin-san has not even _begun_ to feel sorry for losing my daughter."

 

"H-HEY!" 

 

* * *

 

 

_"Kurosaki!  KUROSAKI!"_

_"What the **hell** were you thinking?  You had him!  One blow, that's **all** it would've taken!  He was already half-way gone—"_

_"I can't— I **won't** … It can't end like this."_

_"It always falls on you."_

_"……I said no.  This isn't how it's going to end.  This isn't what we fought for."_

_"Kurosaki, wait!"_

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 3 RD, 2012 A.D., KUROSAKI RESIDENCE, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – LATE EVENING**

 

As discreetly as he could, Ichigo slipped one finger into his pocket and pressed down.  The corner of the black phone peeking out of the denim lit up into life: the numbers on the clock read 11:42.  _Almost there._   Still, he had known disaster to strike in a fraction of the time they had left; he was not allowed to relax quite yet.

 

Locking the phone back into hibernation, Ichigo redirected his attention over to the discussion on the Seireitei's never-ending restoration project, but not before he caught Rukia in the act of averting her gaze.

 

As far as he could tell, there were no signs of suspicion etched out on her face, but then again, she had never had trouble acting.  Sandwiched between Renji and Keigo on one of the large zabuton on the floor, she slipped back into the conversation with ease. 

 

No-one else seemed to have taken note of his momentary distraction.  From his seat in the armchair by the TV, he had a fairly unobstructed view of everyone in the vicinity. 

 

Over at the dining table, Mizuiro and the twins were far too engrossed in a game of cards against Chad and Urahara-san's kids to notice.  In the dimly lit living room, the TV screen played a re-run of last week's Yasuda Kinen horse race on mute.  Heavy with junk food and a fair few glasses of sake, half their group was sprawled out on the zabuton, seemingly struggling to stay awake.  Their already wavering attention was split between the only marginally interesting program and the lazily carried out conversation.

 

Inoue had already nodded off against Ishida's shoulder more than once, but seemed determined to stay awake despite his repeated suggestions that they excuse themselves for the night.  Ishida himself appeared to be wide awake, though visibly tired.  The only person not currently stifling a yawn or even bothering with any pretense whatsoever was Midori, already passed out in her father's embrace, her small arms loosely wrapped around his neck.  Next to them on the couch, Yoruichi-san would steal the occasional glance before diving back into the conversation.

 

"…long enough, hasn't it?" Ishida was saying.  "Nine years without a Captain at the helm…  Doesn't this make Kuchiki-san's workload almost twice as great?"

 

"You doubting my multi-tasking capabilities, Ishida?" Rukia said with a challenging grin.

 

"It wouldn't be the first time, to be honest," Renji said, then hurried to add.  "Having a vacant Captain position for so long, not doubting Rukia.  Many of us already do that on a daily basis."

 

"At _any_ rate," Rukia said, landing a punch on Renji's arm.  The intent had been seemingly playful, but judging by Renji's soundless cry, appearances were deceiving.  "Finding a replacement for someone of Captain Ukitake's caliber is… not an easy task."  Though the pain in her expression was visibly subdued from what it had been in the first few years, Ichigo could still see the effect the loss of her superior had had on her. 

 

And she was not alone; the mere mention of his name rendered them all silent for a few moments, Rukia's pain rippling throughout the room, now mirrored on the faces of all those present, whose lives had been touched by the late Captain Ukitake.

 

"She's right," his father said, breaking the lull in the conversation.  "It's not unusual for the process to take many years in times of peace.  When I left the Gotei, I imagine it took—"

 

"Two months," Renji said.

 

"I… what?"

 

"That's how long it took for Captain Hitsugaya to be promoted."

 

Cheeks reddening at the soft chortling that permeated the room, his father crossed his arms before his chest.  "Well… just goes to show… the promotion is not immediate."

 

"I'm surprised none of you have been offered the spot," Ishida said, addressing Urahara-san, Yoruichi-san and Tessai.  "Yadōmaru-san was asked to return, wasn't she?"

 

His comment drew a reaction out of both the three of them and the other Shinigami in the room.  As the former shared a knowing look, it was Renji who answered Ishida's question first.  "Oh, we offered all right…"

 

"But there are only so many ways—" Urahara-san said, one hand lazily stroking his daughter's back.

 

"—you can say 'No' before it becomes…" Yoruichi-san piled on, brow creased in search of the right word.

 

"Impolite," Tessai finished for them.

 

"Sure, let's go with that," said Yoruichi-san, grinning.

 

"You weren't tempted?" Rukia said, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her chin against her knees.  Her bare toes dug leisurely into the zabuton, a tendril of hair tickling her nose when she gently leaned her head to the side.  "Not even once?"

 

"With all due deference to Kuchiki-dono," Tessai said.  "We made our choice a long time ago.  Not that the offer wasn't humbling.  And there really was no need; Hachigen-dono is doing a wonderful job, from what I hear."

 

"I swear I thought you were preparing to move back," Renji said.  "I remember Yoruichi-san spent that whole first year back and forth between Karakura and Soul Society."

 

"Mmm, carrying another man's child, no less," Urahara-san said, effectively yanking Ichigo straight into the conversation.

 

"You are _never_ letting that one go, are you?" Ichigo said, sighing.

 

Apparently, neither was Yoruichi-san.  "Thankfully, Kisuke was _very_ understanding and agreed to raise her with me."

 

It was an old joke, one that had _long_ ago stopped being funny, if you asked him, but Ichigo was spared from any further humiliation, when Keigo's sudden cry drew the attention of the room.

"Okay, how the _hell_ did you just do that?" he said, as a jockey pranced about the TV screen atop his steed, smiling and waving to the cheering crowd.

 

Inoue shrugged, a demure smile on her lips.  "It's just how it works: horses that stay in the pack the longest before breaking away in the final leg have increased chances of winning."

 

This answer didn't seem to satisfy Keigo, and if Ichigo was being honest, he couldn't understand how Inoue had predicted the winner either.

 

"Inoue-san is right," Urahara-san said.  "It's the same in motor racing: by getting into the slipstream of the racer in front, you gain the aerodynamic advantage."

 

Inoue nodded; apparently, Urahara-san's explanation made perfect sense to her.  "Plus, in horse racing there's also the element of the animals inevitably tiring out, so by letting the lead deal with all the wind resistance, the back horse has more energy left for a last sprint."

 

"So… wait…" Keigo said.  "Can you predict the winner of _every_ horse race?  'Cause that could be… potentially profitable."

 

Inoue let out a chuckle at that. "I suppose I could, as long as the races all include perfectly elastic spherical horses moving through a vacuum," she said, now laughing in earnest.

 

Whatever point she had just made seemed to fly over _everyone's_ head, Ichigo saw to his relief, save for Ishida, who gave her a fond smile, and Urahara-san, who genuinely seemed to find her comment funny.

 

"It was a good joke," he said with a shrug, when Yoruichi-san arched a questioning eyebrow at him.

 

"Nerds," she said, shaking her head.

 

Though the general consensus was that the joke had fallen flat, it did seem to stir a memory awake in Tatsuki.  "Wait… Is _that_ why you had that round cow plushie in your room for ages?"

 

"Ohhhhh, that was a gift from Uryū-kun!"

 

Next to Inoue, Ishida went from porcelain-pale to deep red in a matter of milliseconds.  "Orihime…"

 

Undeterred by his hand gently squeezing hers, Inoue went on to provide details, much to Ichigo's delight.  "I was giving this lecture to freshmen and every professor I'd ever had always went, 'Consider a spherical cow,' " she said, her voice taking on a rigid, deep timbre.  "So I thought why _consider_ it?  People always learn better with visual aids, right?  So I had this idea of _showing_ the students a spherical cow and Uryū-kun made me one for my lecture!"

 

"Well isn't that just _darling_ ," Rukia said, smirking at Ishida, whose entire upper body now resembled a beet in color.

 

"Her name is Maru-chan!"

 

As much as he was taking pleasure in the fact that Ishida was paying for his earlier bad karma, Ichigo soon realized that with the momentary shift in attention, this was a prime opportunity to slip away for a short break without drawing any suspicion. Excusing himself, he made his way to the bathroom.  As soon as the door closed behind him, he slipped his phone out, fingers shaking while he checked the time yet again.

 

11:59.

 

The sensation that had been bubbling within him since morning reached its boiling point.  The fear was no longer settling in, sinking its claws deeper and deeper.  It was simply _there_.

 

Heart galloping, he held the phone before his eyes in silence, counting every second.  _Four, three, two, one…_

 

The moment the digital numbers morphed into 12:01, Ichigo let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding in.  He was barely able to pocket the phone again, the tremor in his hands exacerbating, and he reached out to grip the rim of the sink for support.

 

_Breathe… just breathe… It's over._

 

Swallowing hard, he pressed the flush once, then turned the tap on and cupped his hands beneath the stream.  The cool water felt refreshing against his feverish skin, quelling some of his anxiety, but he knew he couldn't stay locked in there forever.

 

With a sigh, Ichigo padded his face dry, taking a deep breath before he pushed the bathroom door open.  The second he did, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

"You need to get your act together."

 

Ichigo barely managed to suppress a cry at the unexpected sight of his father blocking his exit.  Standing broad by the doorway, he kept his arms tightly wound across his chest, his dark eyebrows knit together.

 

"I…. _what_?" Ichigo breathed out.

 

Pursing his lips, his father glanced at both sides of the corridor before leaning in.  Though his expression softened somewhat in its severity, a gleam of worry still haunted his eyes.  "At this rate, Ryūken is going to become a grandfather before me.  If you act _now_ , there's still time—"

 

"Oh my _God_!"

 

"DON'T MAKE ME GIVE THIS SPEECH TO KARIN AND YUZU!"

 

Shoving his old man aside, Ichigo hurried out into the corridor, his gait quickening.  "LEAVING NOW."

 

"AT LEAST _TRY_ TO HAVE A CHILD OF THE OPPOSITE SEX; THAT WAY THEY CAN MARRY AND WE CAN INHERIT THE HOSPITAL—"

 

In a desperate attempt to escape his father's antics, Ichigo bypassed the living room entirely, not in the mood to deal with the teasing that would undoubtedly await there.  Instead, he made a sharp turn for the kitchen, eager to grab a cool, calming glass of water, only to find Rukia perched atop the counter, cross-legged, munching on some leftover popcorn.

 

_Of course.  Of **course**.  Because why would I **not** run into the most inconvenient person possible at this precise time?_

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes, Ichigo addressed her.  "Please tell me you didn't hear—"

 

Rukia let out a guffaw that plainly stated: You _wish_.  "Hear what?  That Isshin yearns to be a grandfather?"

 

Sighing, Ichigo opened his eyes again, meeting her smirk head-on with one of his own, while she continued to chew ostentatiously, one slipper dangling off her bobbing foot.

 

"Guess that would require you getting yourself a _wife_ first."

 

Arms folded before his chest, Ichigo approached her slowly.  "Not necessarily.  Look at Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san."

 

"Mmm, yes," Rukia said with a nod, fishing the last few popcorn pieces out of the bucket.  "I am _positive_ a certain brother of mine would have nothing to say about _that_.  He would be _especially_ thrilled to hear you're taking a leaf out of Yoruichi-san's book."

 

Chuckling, Ichigo came to a stop before her, filling the space between her legs.  Her eyes followed his movements as he came to rest his hands against the counter on either side of her, his arms bracketing her smaller frame. 

 

Rukia set the bucket aside, making a show out of licking her fingers.  He was sorely tempted to help her finish the job, but she soon leaned back, supporting her weight against her extended arms, a challenge written in her heavy-lidded eyes.  " _I_ know what all this humming and hawing is _really_ about."

 

"Oh?" Ichigo said, leaning in.

 

His efforts to end this conversation were thwarted when she shoved a knee between them, forcing him to keep his distance.  "You are _never_ making Captain before me, lowly Third Seat.  Best make your peace with that."

 

"I think it's been well-established I have no issues dating a superior," Ichigo said, and they both knew this to be true.  Just as the both knew Rukia's statement was also true, to an extent.

 

Dealing with Byakuya as his partner's brother was challenging enough; dealing with him as his _brother-in-law_ was a kind of headache that belonged in a league of its own.  And as much as he'd tried to conceal it, it hadn't escaped Rukia's notice that he had been harbouring the need to prove himself professionally without her by his side.  Then again, the notion of leaving the Thirteenth Division, even for a potential promotion to Captain, was beginning to look less and less appealing every day.

 

Perhaps she was right. 

 

"Fair enough," Rukia said, pushing herself up until they were breathing the same air.  Her eyes softening, she threaded her fingers into his hair, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone.  "Any _other_ issues I should know about?"

 

There was no point feigning ignorance; he had felt Rukia's eyes on him throughout the whole day, every time the cheerful façade slipped, if only for a moment.  Ichigo opened his mouth to speak, his eyes downcast as he searched for a way to let her down easy, at least for now, but he never needed it.

 

"You'll tell me?  When you're ready?"  Rukia said.

 

Ichigo bumped his forehead against hers gently, nodding.  "I will.  Just… not tonight, I—"

 

"When you're ready."

 

One day, soon, he promised himself as he turned to kiss the hand that still stroked his face, she would never have to ask that question again.

 

* * *

 

 

**_"The path… is being closed.  Ichigo… the path to a world with no fear.  The present world… Soul Society… and Hueco Mundo… they were meant to become one.  Life and death, twisted and fused together, they were destined to all be one and the same._ **

****

**_But now… that will likely never happen.  You have yourself to thank for that… Ichigo.  Sadly, because of all your efforts here… life and death will never lose their current forms, and all those who breathe will continue to pass each and every day by living in fear of death._ **

****

**_For all eternity."_ **

 

_A final rasp, a swan song laced with poison, and the thick, black rain began to fall, fall, fall…_

 

_The hand that gripped Zangetsu slackened its hold as the long ribbons of black began to fall apart, ever-diminishing into threads of ebony silk.  And he could feel it, the presence, pulse after pulse of waning power rippling through the air, but he knew it would never fade entirely, it would never stop, it would never end._

 

**_"For I shall find the future… that one moment in time where each of you feel the greatest amount of joy and happiness… and it is there I shall slaughter you._ **

****

**_So from this point forward… every time you indulge in your own happiness, you shall think of my words.  And in that moment, when you do… you will remember my looming shadow… the terror of death I now promise you._ **

****

**_For all eternity."_ **

****

_Like a snake, slithering away to safe haven to devour its own tail and begin the cycle anew, it was retreating.  The spindly fingers began to relinquish their hold on the blade one by one, each scattering into a thousand particles like ashes in the wind, the ashes whence it would be reborn again and again and again._

****

_…No more._

_His hand shot out, clamping down atop the dissolving arm. A thousand pupils contracted and zeroed in on him, the tatters of their existence suspended in mid-air, a corona of black, and in its center there was only he._

_"We… are not done."_

_And as he mustered every scrap of strength he had left, he watched the swirls of black pull back toward the center, reconstruct.  For all their alienness, there was something very human in those eyes as they shot him a warning look, cautioned him not to go any further._

_Even they were not immune to fear, and like all cornered animals, once trapped, their only recourse…_

_…was to fight back._

_"Can't seem to do anything right today."_

_"GO FRICKIN' FIND HER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"_

_"I… cannot be the only one who made it."_

_"Rukia!  It's been a while!"_

_"You'll tell me?  When you're ready?"_

_"You seen Kazui?"_

_"Geez, is a wnder any of us eer made it past infancy!"_

_"Rukia, u seen Kazui?"_

_"GO FRKIN' TELL HER WHN U'RE READY"_

_"Icannot betheonlyone who's— ready?"_

_"It'sawonderIcan'tseemtodoanythingrighttodayI'lltellherwhenI'mready."_

_The scream died in his throat before it could make it past his lips, his lungs seizing with the breath that froze solid in his chest, the shock to his system too severe to even register as his mind flooded with possibility, a hurricane of information he could not parse or make flood of and he was hurricaning the probabilities dying in his lungs no lips no mind no future drowning in the future of his chest and it was all he could do to hold on to a last shred of consciousness before the black whirlpool swallowed him whole._

 

* * *

 

 

_"Kurosaki!  KUROSAKI!  What the **hell** were you thinking?  You had him!  One blow, that's **all** it would've taken!  He was already half-way gone—"_

_"No."_

_"What do you mean **no**?  This isn't the time to be petulant, we have to—"_

_"I can't— I **won't** … It can't end like this."_

_"Like **what**?"  _

_"Every way we do this…"_

_"It always falls on you."_

_"……I said no.  This isn't how it's going to end.  This isn't what we fought for."_

_"Kurosaki, wait!  Listen— LISTEN TO ME."_

_"We are not going to survive this, Ishida."_

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 4 TH, 2012 A.D., KUROSAKI RESIDENCE, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN – MIDNIGHT**

 

Shedding her nebulous veil, the crescent moon slipped out into the sky, brandishing her horns.  Out in the small front yard, Ichigo leaned back against the wall and let her light illuminate his face.

 

The ache in his temple throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, and Ichigo closed his eyes, repeating the three word mantra in his mind in the hopes that he could will it into reality.

 

_It's over.  It's over.  It's over._

 

Was it, though?  Would it ever truly be?  Or was he cursed to live to the end of his days in fear, waiting for the day when every hard-earned victory, every dream realized, every beautiful memory made would be torn out of his grasp?

 

Could he even count it as a victory?  If fear continued to dominate his life, creeping in the shadows behind every moment of doubt, could he ever honestly say he had won?

 

His thoughts were cut short when the doors to the patio slid open and out came Urahara-san.  Ichigo's immediate assumption was that Urahara-san had been sent out to check up on him, but he merely gave him a nod in acknowledgment and dug his hand into the inside pocket of his haori.

 

"This is a familiar setting," Urahara-san said, pulling out his pipe and a matchbox.

 

Ichigo had an inkling as to what he was referring to, but made no comment as Urahara-san passed by him and came to lean against the adjacent wall, lighting up his pipe.

 

"Why the long face, Kurosaki-san?"

 

"It's nothing," Ichigo said, belatedly realizing his response had come a little _too_ quickly. 

 

It didn't take someone of Urahara-san's perception to discern the lie. 

 

Still, the older man said nothing for the time being, enjoying the first drag of smoke leisurely, which gave Ichigo the opportunity to try and change the subject.  "Your kid's _weird._ Even by your own personal standards," he said, and he knew Urahara-san wouldn't misread this as anything but some well-intended teasing.  "Keeps getting weirder every year."

 

Urahara-san gave a gentle chuckle, a tendril of smoke escaping his lips.  "Yes, she is."

 

His tone was nothing short of adoring, the soft smile painted on his features unlike anything Ichigo had ever seen on the face of his erstwhile mentor.  In the eleven years he had known him, Ichigo could only recall a handful of times when he'd been witness to a glimpse of pure, unadulterated frankness from Urahara-san.      

 

And in that moment, it became impossible to contain the mental images of him unmoving – _Gone, **gone** -_ or broken and hollow – _"I… cannot be the only one who made it."_   He had seen it all, over and over and _over_ again until he could look no longer, until it became easier to count the survivors than spare a second's thought to the garden of bones that spread before his feet.

 

In that moment, Ichigo's chest swelled with such joy to have him _there_ , alive, before his own two eyes, well and whole and smiling, and the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.  "I'm glad I got to meet her."

 

Beneath the shadow cast by his ever-present hat, Urahara-san's gaze flitted over to him. "So am I," he said.  

 

If he were a betting man, Ichigo might've been willing to risk a fortune that his mentor hadn't lamented the loss of right eye for _too_ long.  The eyepatch that now filled the void for what the war had stolen from him only served to add more mystique to his stare, along with the faded scars that ran the length of his cheeks. 

 

In the short silence that followed, Urahara-san never broke eye contact until Ichigo turned away, still unsure as to what to make of the older man's words.  Had he just referred to himself, to Ichigo, or both of them?  With Urahara-san, he could never be certain.  More importantly, he had responded without a moment's pause, without challenging the significance behind Ichigo's words for a second.

 

If Rukia was the one person in his life capable of discerning that something was wrong within the blink of an eye, Urahara-san was the person who would work out the _why_ equally fast.

 

And yet he said nothing still, merely tilting his head backward until it gently bumped against the wall.  "Day's over," he said, exhaling a trail of smoke.  "Do you know…" Urahara-san went on, with the nonchalant attitude of someone discussing the weather.  "I've had the _strangest_ feeling of déjà vu hounding me all day long since morning.  As though I'd lived through this _exact_ day before, only with deliberate differences, both minor and major."

 

Ichigo's fingers clenched against the stone beneath his fingertips involuntarily.  In the seconds it took for the true meaning of Urahara-san's words to sink in, Ichigo ran the emotional sprint from shock to doubt to relief and back again more than once. 

 

Head whipping toward his mentor, Ichigo was equally surprised to find him wearing a soft grin that was far less playful, but instead betrayed something akin to camaraderie.  "You— You, too?  How…?  Did everyone else—?"

 

Urahara-san shook his head.  "No.  If my working theory is correct, the only ones likely to experience this phenomenon are you, myself, Aizen-san and perhaps a few others," he said.  "Anyone who stood at the threshold between life and death while you were confronting Yhwach."

 

There was little reason to contest this: Urahara-san's so-called 'working theories' tended to fall on the side of accuracy far more often than the opposite. 

 

"Were you expecting this?" Ichigo asked.

 

Urahara-san nodded.  "As were you.  On some level."

 

It was no use to question why this conversation hadn't come up over the course of nine years.  Ichigo himself had never once shared this knowledge with anyone, save one person.  Even if he had known how to put into words something he wasn't certain he even understood, he hadn't dared utter his concerns for fear that they might spring into realization. 

 

"You've been carrying an immense load in silence for nine long years," Urahara-san said, seemingly reading his mind.

 

"I didn't… I didn't know how to…"

 

"I'm not chastising you, Kurosaki-san."

 

"It took me a long time to really understand it, any of it," Ichigo said, turning his gaze over to the dark, spangled sky.  "But I knew, even then, I…"   

 

Urahara-san remained silent, allowing him the time to find the words to articulate thoughts and feelings he had never before shared.

 

"You probably figured it out from day one," Ichigo said, once he'd found his voice again.  "Hell, it… it was so blatant even _I_ realized it the moment I saw it, even if I couldn't quite piece it all together perfectly.  It was… it was Ishida.  That tipped me off.  In every single future, every single thread… he was alone."

 

"Deliberately isolated."

 

Ichigo turned to face Urahara-san, nodding.  "It's because he was Yhwach's successor, wasn't it?"

 

"Yes.  I confess I do not have enough data to back up my theory," Urahara-san said.  "But from what I was able to discern through research in later years, the ceremony Ishida-san underwent meant that if any of Yhwach's reiatsu survived to ensure his future return, it would happen through him.  I suspect his choice to isolate himself was Ishida-san's way of keeping everyone out of harm's way.  Or perhaps he hoped that if he never allowed himself to be truly happy, he might stave off Yhwach's return for good."

 

There was a wry, almost pitying smirk on Urahara-san's face as he spoke those final words.  It might've made Ichigo feel patronized on Ishida's behalf, if he didn't already know the truth: in every universe, every possible future he had seen, Yhwach had never once failed to return.  A mere shadow of an existence, but an existence all the same, hounding their steps like a specter until he chose to make his return. 

 

And every single time, it would be on this very day.  A day he had relived over and over again for what had felt like an eternity, all within the span of a single breath.

 

"Do you think he's really gone?" Ichigo asked, hating his own voice for sounding so small and so very terrified, but at this point, he figured there was little he had left to hide from Urahara-san.

 

In response, the older man slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone.  "Well, if he's not, then he is being _terribly_ rude," he said, one eyebrow arched at the vibrant screen.  "It's already eleven past."

 

Ichigo couldn't help it: he laughed.

 

"He's gone," Urahara-san said.  "You made certain of that a long time ago, when you made the choice to not live in fear."

 

"I did, though.  Just for today.  I was terrified."

 

His admission caught Urahara-san's attention.  Aware of the other man's persistent but worried gaze on him, Ichigo slipped his hands into his pockets, head rolling against the wall to stare up at the sky.

 

"In the other timelines…" he began, trying to find the right words for concepts he wasn't even certain he understood fully.  "I can't really say I was ever _unhappy,_ it's just…"

 

Unbidden, the various scenes of domestic bliss came to him.  The image of a doting wife, of a brown-eyed boy, sometimes a girl.  Like image cutouts lifted out of an instructional manual on picture-perfect happiness, because really, what more could one ask for in life?  And never mind the constant, nagging sensation that something about the scenery wasn't quite right, that something was amiss, like a splinter in his mind that only pushed in deeper the more he refused to acknowledge it.

 

"Something always felt… wrong.  And today… Today I… I was reminded I haven't felt that way since.  Not once.  I didn't even realize what day it was until—" 

 

Rukia in her flowing dress.  The one constant in every single timeline.  The converging point of a million separate lives.  The wind making her hair dance across her face, her broad smile, her glistening eyes, her crossed arms, the slim, fluttering sundress Ishida made for her.  Like the one he'd gifted her with a long time ago, on the day of their departure from Soul Society.

 

 _"I've decided to… stay in Soul Society_. _"_

 

"Until…" Ichigo trailed off, never voicing the end of that sentence.  "The second I did, I was terrified.  Not even of Yhwach, to tell you the truth.  Well, partly, I suppose.  I was mostly scared that… that I'd start to feel that way again.  Like something was constantly out of place, like I'd… like I'd made all the wrong choices."

 

Ichigo turned to face Urahara-san once more. 

 

"What do you think it is, about this day?" he said.  "Why did Yhwach always choose today of all days to appear?  Somehow, I don't think this was ever meant to be Ishida's happiest day ever.  Not even in this life."

 

"I wouldn't say _the_ happiest," Urahara-san said.  "But I can tell you from experience that today is a very, _very_ happy day for him, indeed."

 

As always, Urahara-san spoke with the confidence of a man who knew more than his interlocutor did, and for once, Ichigo was curious enough to ask, albeit wordlessly.

 

"That would be _telling_ , Kurosaki-san," he said, smirking at the frown on Ichigo's features.  "Don't worry; I'm sure you'll find out soon enough.  And if you're still unconvinced Yhwach will not be returning, you should know I have already lived past the happiest day of my life.  I can assure you there were no unexpected guests.  Still, Ishida-san's personal happiness would certainly outrank mine, in an alleged hit list."

 

Ichigo watched Urahara-san give his pipe a very ostentatious tap before his eyes bored into Ichigo's. 

 

"You took quite a gamble, choosing to go down this path instead of accepting any other when Yhwach's defeat was still possible in many of them."

 

And there it was.  The reason he had never once spoken of his experience to anyone else, not even Rukia, not his father, nor Urahara-san.  He didn't think anyone would ever quite understand, not unless they'd seen what he had seen.

 

"I suppose you think that was irresponsible," Ichigo said, hanging his head, but mentally preparing himself to defend his choice, no matter what the rebuttal.

 

"No.  Not in the least."

 

This time, Ichigo was _convinced_ he'd heard wrong.  His eyes searching for the older man beseechingly, he looked for any sign of a lie on his features, but found none.  Urahara Kisuke, the man prepared to do anything for the greater good, had nothing to criticize about the risk Ichigo had chosen to take on the backs of everyone he knew and loved.

 

"It takes courage to sacrifice one's personal happiness to ensure everyone else's safety," Urahara-san said.  "But it also takes courage to know when it's time to fight back, to reject the reality you're presented with and fight for a better world."

 

Still lost for words, all Ichigo could do was stare in shock.

 

Urahara-san let out a chuckle. "Ahh, if only Aizen-san could hear me now," he said, lips upturned as he cleaned out his pipe. "Though to be fair, I don't think he ever quite understood why a world where life and death lose all meaning could never be the utopia he envisioned.  He and Yhwach had that in common.  And in my defense, I did try to create a better world… once.  But I didn't try hard enough.  Not until you came along."

 

Ichigo felt the sudden need to say something profound, something worthy of Urahara-san's praise of him, something worthy of what this man had come to mean to him, but his mentor never gave him the chance.  Pocketing his pipe, he pushed himself off the wall and headed for the patio doors.

 

As he brushed past him, Ichigo prepared himself to say goodnight, but Urahara-san's hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him to make eye-contact again.

 

"They will never know, what it took for you to make this decision," Urahara-san said, and in that moment, Ichigo saw it, crystal clear, the gaze of someone who understood precisely what he'd been through.  "I saw it all, just like you did.  Timelines where I survived, others where I did not, many of which were… quite frankly all the better for my absence," he said, glancing indoors for a split second.  Ichigo didn't have to turn around to know who he was looking at. 

 

"I was never forced to choose," he went on.  "And neither were you, but you still did.  You watched your future split into a million different threads and it is not shameful to admit you sometimes wonder what choosing a different path might've been like.  Or even quietly mourn for the loss of things that will now never come to pass."

 

The brown-eyed boy.

 

The girl with orange-colored pigtails that reached down to her waist.

 

A quiet life.

 

With a grin, Urahara-san gave him a pat and withdrew his hand.  "You should ask Inoue-san to explain the concept of the multiverse to you sometime; I imagine she will make a grand production of it.  And at any rate, I think it might help make your heart feel a little lighter, knowing that there are possible universes where your other selves are there to protect and love the things you found difficult to leave behind," he said. "The important question to ask yourself, Kurosaki-san, is this: was your choice worth it?  To you.  Right here, right now.  In this life."

 

Tearing his eyes away from Urahara-san's cool, clever gaze, Ichigo felt his irresistibly drawn indoors. 

 

To Chad, who would never have to break his promise again to make ends meet. 

 

To Tatsuki, who had realized her lifelong dream. 

 

To Inoue and Ishida, who always held hands under the table and stole doe-eyed looks at each other when they thought no-one could see, who had made choices that would never lead to a particularly wealthy life, but a nevertheless undeniably _happy_ one.

 

And then his eyes sought out the one person they'd been looking for all along, and he could've sworn she sensed his gaze, she must have, because her gentle, violet eyes met his and she smiled until her cheeks were dotted with soft dimples, and he knew, he could see, the bright future that awaited her, the inauguration he wouldn't miss this time around, and there really was no other answer to Urahara-san's question, than:

 

"Absolutely."

 

* * *

 

 

_"Kurosaki!  KUROSAKI!  Are you awake?  Are you hurt?"_

 

_"No, I…  I'm f—"_

_"What the **hell** were you thinking?  You had him!  One blow, that's **all** it would've taken!  He was already half-way gone—"_

_"No."_

_"What do you mean **no**?  This isn't the time to be petulant, we have to—"_

_"I can't— I **won't** … It can't end like this."_

_"Like **what**?"  _

_"Every way we do this… you end up alone."_

_"What in the blazes are you even **talking** about?  Are you **sure** you're not—?"_

_"I SAW IT.  The Almighty's power... I had it, just for a moment.  And I saw it all.  Every possible way, every possible future.  It always falls on you."_

_"………So what?"_

_"So **what**?  SO—"_

_"YEAH, SO **WHAT**?  If **that's** what it takes."_

_"……I said no.  This isn't how it's going to end.  This isn't what we fought for."_

_"Kurosaki, wait!  Listen— LISTEN TO ME."_

_"NO.  We are **not** going to survive this, Ishida.  We didn't come all this way to simply **survive**.  We are going to finish this **now** and end this cycle of fear for good.  And then… then we are going to **live**."_

 

**_And thus fell the sword of fate…_ **

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **_Kurosaki Ichigo_ ** _/ 26 years old_

 **_Hair Color_ ** _/ Orange_

 **_Eye Color_ ** _/ Brown_

 **_Occupation_ ** _/ ~~Substitute~~ Shinigami _

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever play one of those games that feature several endings, depending on your actions throughout the game? Well, that's the main idea here, and the reason why this prologue is just so damn happy (to an almost unrealistic degree) for everyone involved: this is the flawless ending! It was meant to serve as both a tease for Yhwach's return (the happiest day of their lives and all) and as an eerie déjà vu to the reader, like the one the characters themselves experience. Of course, not everything in our characters' lives is perfect as you will discover in future instalments, but this was just about as perfect a day as they could get, with all of them being at a happy, fulfilling point in their lives, and gathered together to celebrate their friendship.
> 
> Why 9 years later instead of 10? Because the London Olympics (where Women's Boxing first became an Olympic sport) took place in 2012 and the TYBW arc ends in 2003. The part about the Soul Sperm meeting the Soul Egg is a direct reference to Bleach Lists, which, if you haven't already checked out on tumblr, you really, really should.
> 
> What happened with the Soul King and the balance of the worlds? How did the nakama choose their respective careers? What changed in Soul Society? How did Ichigo end up in the 13th Division? How did Aizen get locked back in the Muken? For answers to all these questions, stay tuned :) Flashbacks are incoming. Obviously, that part about Yhwach's defeat, the different timelines and the decision Ichigo made deserves its own chapter, so I'm not hand-waving it and leaving it at that, don't worry. I just wanted to give you a small taste so you could understand the basic logic behind this story, then explore it fully when the time comes.
> 
> And yes, that includes a proper final battle that takes into consideration Kisuke's 'final' words, among other things.
> 
> And if you came here from tumblr, expecting to see two blond lil' shits instead of the little girl at the start, worry not! I'm getting there. Can't have one of them running around without his buddy, now, can we? ;) Shinya and Shion will be joining the cast soon enough, when it's time for them to come.


	2. Equilibrium Pt.I – Asunder (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just get this out of the way first: the reception I got for this story blew. Me. Away. Thank you all so much for your kudos, your lovely comments and your amazing feedback. I sincerely hope this story can live up to your expectations. Also, I got a number of messages from people asking about Kisuke's "carrying another man's child" comment. My apologies, I didn't meant to confuse anyone! xD;;; As some of you already suspected, yes, this was a joke, a reference to an event that you'll read about in the next chapter. I assure you, Midori was 100% fathered by Kisuke. 
> 
> Okay, on to the actual notes. My apologies for the length, but please do take a moment to read through the whole thing; these are mostly one-time only notes that concern the entire story, so I need to get them out of the way early on.
> 
> Item #1: For those of you new to my longfics, you should know that with every chapter, I post a number of notes on my tumblr blog. They're not by any means compulsory reading; you'll understand the chapter just fine even without reading them. They're more like a supplement meant to be read after the chapter, a way to expand upon cultural/historical matters, or to explain my reasoning/headcanon for X choice etc. You can find the URL in my profile page, and if you have any questions or just want to open up a dialogue, my askbox is always open (to anonymous messages as well, if you're shy or don't have an account). 
> 
> Item #2: I will be starting a separate fic called 'TEF outtakes.' This is where I'll be posting the 'omakes,' scenes and little ficlets that are mostly for my own wish-fulfillment. I've mentioned before that TEF won't be told chronologically anyway, but I still felt like I needed a separate space for all the extras. Sometimes they will be stand-alones, other times they will be more like deleted scenes. Yes, this is also where most of the smutty parts are going to end up. 
> 
> Item #3 (last one, promise!): I have also mentioned that TEF will focus on one character/pair of characters per chapter and follow the plot through their eyes. For this time bracket, it wasn't feasible to limit my POV to Kisuke and Yoruichi, but they are still the main focus. 
> 
> Now, on the subject of those two, and since I said I plan on delivering on everything Kubo had promised, you might be wondering if that includes their backstory. The answer to that is a resounding… no. I already have an on-going fic that deals with precisely that, so feel free to check it out (title is 'Mono no Aware'). I consider everything in that story my personal canon (with the exception of Kisuke's bankai, since I wrote that chapter before 665). For those of you who aren't interested, I've made sure to add in-chapter explanations for things you need to know to appreciate the nuances of some of the relationships explored in this chapter. 
> 
> Though the majority of this chapter ranks no higher than a PG-13, there are a few parts that certainly live up to the M rating, and not for fun reasons, I'm afraid. While I don't go into explicit detail, there is mention of some disturbing themes (specifically gore), so be advised if this isn't your cup of tea. 
> 
> Also a final word of caution before you proceed: 
> 
> This chapter opens up with a revelation that will be extremely upsetting (emotionally and ethically speaking; no trigger warnings) to many, if not all of you. This is *intentional*. I mean for this scene to upset and trouble the reader, because even as the lesser of two evils, it's still a highly distasteful solution to an already impossible problem. All I ask is that you give me the time to see it through in subsequent chapters, with the promise that it will be handled with grace and respect for all characters involved before all is said and done.
> 
> For reference's sake, the TYBW arc ended on June 18th, 2003 AD.
> 
> 15/02/2016 EDIT: Outtake #1 is up, the order goes: Chapter 2 up to (and including) June 26th > The Ties That Bind > the rest of Chapter 2 > Chapter 3

 

  **JUNE 24 TH, 2003 A.D., FOURTH DIVISION RELIEF STATION, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

Old man Yama had once told him that warriors wore their scars like badges of honor.  In all the cockiness and inherent levity of youth, Shunsui had then proceeded to proclaim Yama-jī the most honorable warrior in existence. 

 

With the passage of two millennia, now inhabiting a body that bore little resemblance to its more youthful counterpart, he had come to fully grasp the message his erstwhile mentor had tried to convey:  wisdom and pain went hand-in-hand.  The mind has a way of course-correcting, of lashing out in primitive, animalistic instinct to protect itself, and in time lessening the pain, bundling it up in scar tissue and burying it ten fathoms deep into the darkest recesses of the body, out of sight, out of mind, forgotten by everyone but the heart.

 

Yama-jī.  Unohana. 

 

Ukitake.

 

Each loss carving out a part of him and leaving only scars behind, each loss hammering him down into the earth until he was reminded that hope was only ever a young man's luxury.

 

And as he sat there, holding vigil for a faint heartbeat, he felt so very old, shriveled, misshapen and knotted with scar tissue, the Captain Commander's yoke settling onto his shoulders with all the grace of an ill-fitted mantle.

 

The last of his generation.

 

But not just yet. 

 

Not until the slim, green line of the heart monitor would peak for one last time, before falling flat. _Whenever that may be_.

 

Hair flayed out like a silver fan against the pillow, Ukitake might have been sleeping, the quiet rise and fall of his sternum rhythmic and measured.  If he concentrated hard enough, Shunsui could almost pretend the swarming mass of tubes crawling up his pale, paper-thin skin weren't there.

 

If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend the machinery wasn't the only thing keeping him anchored, however tentatively, to this world.

 

If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost pretend that the man he had loved had not retreated forever, leaving an empty, broken husk in his place.

 

He was almost grateful when the meandering thoughts were brought to a halt by a discreet rap on the open door.  

 

Urahara Kisuke stood beneath the threshold, fingers toying absently with the hat in his hands, his face half illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light.  Out of context, it would have been difficult to say at that moment which of the other two men looked worse for wear. 

 

The fatigue of the past few days clung to Urahara like a second shadow, the kind of exhaustion that transcended the sag in his shoulders and seeped deep into his bones.  A trail of stitches ran the length of his cheeks, his left forearm and fingers.  Black and forbidding like barbed wire, it was a visual and starkly contrasting complement to his already established proclivity to keep inquiring minds at arm's length. 

 

Shunsui doubted whether he'd found the time during the past six days for a decent meal, let alone a look in the mirror.  With a sinking feeling, he realized that perhaps Urahara couldn't muster up the courage to do so quite yet; it was a fear he knew all too well. 

 

"Captain Commander," Urahara said, giving a curt inclination of his head in his direction.  "I was—" His eyes flitted once toward the bed before meeting his again.  "—hoping we could—"

 

"You asked to see me, Urahara-tenchō?" Shunsui said, turning around in his short stool to face him.

 

"I did.  But perhaps this isn't the best choice of venue."

 

"I suppose not," Shunsui said, letting out a sigh.  "I was waiting on an update by Kotetsu-san.  I think it's more for her benefit than my own, to tell you the truth."

 

Urahara said nothing, but out of the corner of his eye, Shunsui saw him glance toward the bed again, this time allowing his gaze to linger.

 

"You wouldn't happen to have an ace up your sleeve, would you?  Some sort of miracle cure?"

 

"I— No.  I am… deeply sorry."

 

"Ah, well…" Shunsui said, pressing his hands over his knees and pushing himself up to full height.  He hadn't truly dared to hope anyway.  "Worth a shot.  Still, if it's all the same to you, I would rather stay close.  We can step outside."

 

Urahara followed him out of the room, and as he shut the door behind them, Shunsui briefly debated leading him back to the First Division barracks.  He had a feeling that whatever Urahara wished to say, it wasn't a discussion meant to be held in public.  The numerous, well-hidden bottles of sake in various nooks and crannies of his office beckoned, as they had for six days now, but Shunsui feared that the moment the first sip of alcohol passed his lips, he might very well never stop.

 

 _Splitting headache it is._  

 

"Is this about Kurosaki Ichigo?" Shunsui said once they were outside, leaning against the glass, his back turned to the view of the room within.

 

Urahara seemed to consider his words for a moment, glancing either way down the corridor.  Aside from the distant sound of medical professionals shuffling about, they were well and truly alone.  "Yes.  And no," he said, turning back to him, chest expanding in a deep breath.  "I appreciate that you have a great number of issues to tend to, Captain Commander, but with all due respect, I feel this should take priority over others.  For time constraints, if for no other reason."

 

"The Soul King situation?"

 

"Yes."

 

Shunsui nodded absently, not because he didn't share Urahara's opinion, but because this was the issue he had least been looking forward to dealing with.  "Well, your plan bought us some time, at the very least," he said.  "How long will the seal last?"  Judging by the fact that Urahara had chosen this time to approach him, it could only mean that they were running out of time.

 

"Two months, perhaps?" Urahara said, shrugging.  "At best.  I would prefer to err on the side of caution on this: anything longer than a month is a risk."

 

"A month.  To find a suitable replacement.  With the entire royal line slaughtered." 

 

They might as well ask for the sun to rise from the west.

 

Shunsui had never before felt a greater need for a drink than he did at that moment, as he let his head bump gently against the glass behind him, shutting his eyes for a spell.  When he opened them again, he spoke the words he had been dreading to say out loud ever since his brief visit to Karakura Town.  "Have you spoken to Ichigo-kun yet?"

 

"No.  Not about this," Urahara said, a muscle in his jaw tightening.  He seemed to be steeling himself to say something he knew was not going to be well-received.  "And… I would prefer not to."

 

"Yes, well… Preference is, sadly, an indulgence we cannot afford," Shunsui said with a wry grin.  "I will not say I am surprised to find you hesitant; I know you care about the boy.  But the reason I specifically asked _you_ to stay was that I trusted you understood the need to focus on the bigger picture."

 

At that moment, Urahara looked every bit the green boy from over a century ago, the one who had balked at the suggestion that his concern over his Lieutenant did neither her nor him any favors.  "I…"  

 

Shunsui couldn't pretend the sight left him unaffected, but he had no use for the sentimental boy of old.  If there was one thing he would forever credit Aizen Sōsuke with, it was awakening whatever ruthlessness Urahara had once kept well-hidden, gifting him with the kind of worldly cynicism that was only ever the result of betrayal and resolve.  As with tyrants everywhere, Aizen had unwittingly created his own worst enemy, a weapon that had not only brought forth his downfall, but had become invaluable to their side.

 

And that was the man Shunsui needed at this moment.

 

"If you can come up with a different plan within a month, I assure you, I will be more than amenable," Shunsui said.  "But the boy's lineage is not something that can be replicated on short notice."

 

He expected a number of reactions, ranging from defeat to defiance.  What he did not expect was to see the slow, unfurling gleam of promise in Urahara's bloodshot grey eyes.

 

"Can it?" Shunsui said and, try as he might to quell the urge, his chest swelled with hope.

 

"It's not the lineage that will be difficult to replicate," Urahara said, displaying his knack for seeing simplicity where others saw impossibility.  "The requisite pool of spiritual power, however…" he trailed off.   "And on that front… Kurosaki-san is not the only possible candidate."

 

"Can I assume we're not talking about Aizen-san?" Shunsui said with an arch of his eyebrow.

 

For the first time in days, it seemed someone had managed to appeal to Urahara's sense of humor.  With a faint scoff and a slight upturn on his lips, he shook his head at Shunsui.  "I would sooner watch the world burn.  He would, however, be the perfect candidate, no extra work necessary.  Not even on the lineage front," he said.  "Life is not without a sense of irony, it seems."

 

Though he felt he already knew the answer, Shunsui had been about to ask how exactly Aizen fulfilled the lineage criteria, when something about Urahara's earlier words clicked, and the reason for his visit finally became clear.  The clouded, near-apologetic expression that came in response to this dawning realization was all the confirmation Shunsui needed.

 

Speechless, he turned to face the interior of the room, forehead resting upon the arm he braced against the glass.  He stared at Ukitake for a long time, unseeing, before he could find his voice again.  "Why him?"

 

"Aside from a phenomenally powerful Shinigami," Urahara said.  "Ukitake-san was also an uncommonly kind man.  I can think of no worthier candidate."

 

There was little point in contesting his words.  Given the nature of Kamikake, Shunsui would be lying if he claimed he had never once considered the possibility that his friend may one day be called upon to serve the realm in a different manner altogether.  Yet he had always dreaded it, for reasons entirely unrelated to what would, essentially, be the end to their relationship.

 

"Do you know what the ritual entails?" he said, only barely managing to keep his voice from cracking.

 

Urahara had the decency to remain silent for a long while before responding.  "I do."  His somber tone left no room for doubt as to whether he was lying or not.

 

"You would do that?  You would make that choice?  If it were Yoruichi-san on that bed?" Shunsui said, turning to look at Urahara.  "On the altar?"

 

Urahara was not a man of many weaknesses, but Shunsui just so happened to be aware of the biggest one.  And he knew, by the horror reflected in the younger man's eyes, that he could see it, too, in his mind's eye: the brutality of the ritual that was designed to tear a person apart, in both the literal and figurative sense.

 

Urahara shut his eyes in response, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.  "I… forgive me.  I shouldn't have— I'm just—"

 

"Exhausted," Shunsui finished for him, knowing full well that fatigue and desperation made ill companions to tact.  "Aren't we all…" he went on, falling silent as he continued to watch the steady rise and fall of Ukitake's bare chest.  "I suppose I shouldn't be pointing fingers.  I would have asked you to inflict the same fate upon your student.  A child, at that.  What despicable people we are…"

 

Urahara's protracted silence rang louder than any verbal agreement ever could.

 

Though not fully aware of the more technical aspects of the ritual, Shunsui had lived long enough to know that creation always came at a steep cost.  Many would say death was infinitely preferable to the fate that awaited the Soul King, that such a sacrifice went beyond the call of duty for even the most loyal Soul Reapers.

 

Try as he might to deny it, Shunsui knew all too well that Ukitake was not one of them.  

 

The man he had known and loved would have placed himself in the eye of the storm, challenging the swirling vortex to consume him instead.  Their world was crumbling apart little by little every day, and despite his earlier assertions that no miracle cure would be incoming, Urahara had come forward, promising to sew the rent and worn out body of Soul Society back together the way he had his own. 

 

The only question was what kind of scar would be left behind.

 

Taking in a deep breath, Shunsui broke the silence at long last.  "As I understand it, the rites are fairly obscure," he said.  "There aren't many alive who are familiar with the nature of the ascension ritual, or its precise mechanics.  But I hear Shihōin-sama is the man to consult on such a matter."

 

Urahara's blink-and-you'll-miss-it grimace at the sound of the name was a welcome distraction from the more serious nature of their discussion.  Shunsui didn't know the details, but he was willing to bet Urahara was not in any hurry to pick the brains of the man whose daughter he had more or less run away with, never looking back.

 

"He is…" Urahara searched for the appropriate words as his skin turned a delicate shade of green.  "A very knowledgeable man."

 

"Is there a way to buy more time?" Shunsui said.  Before Urahara could voice what Shunsui knew was an oncoming objection, he hurried to add: "I know we cannot stall forever.  What I'm asking is whether we can at least delay this a little longer."

 

"With a better containment chamber… I should think so, yes."

 

Shunsui nodded, thankful for what felt like the first good news he'd received in a long time.  "Good," he said.  "I shall reach out to the rest of the clans, explain the situation."

 

"I should—"

 

" _You_ will be taking some time off," he said, in a tone that left no room for arguing.

 

He didn't know whether Urahara's expression was plain curiosity or polite affront upon being ordered around by someone who was no longer his superior.  Shunsui knew he had no right to expect the younger man's aid or allegiance, but he understood that were he to accept it, the least he could do was extend him the courtesy of a much-needed break.

 

"Yoruichi-san came to see me the other day," Shunsui said, and judging by the look of alarm in Urahara's eyes, he need not say more, but he continued anyway.  "All but broke down my door.  Threatened to do terrible things to me if I didn't allow you to return home for at least a short break.  I believed her," Shunsui said with a grin.

 

Urahara returned it half-heartedly, uncertainty still clouding his face.

 

"She made the very good point that you are of no use to us when you can barely stand on your own two feet," Shunsui said.  "If the seal can hold for another month, that gives us all some room to breathe and recuperate.  So take that opportunity to rest, then come back to build this containment chamber of yours.  That should buy you enough time."

 

"To do what, exactly?"

 

"To solve this," Shunsui said.  "In a way that won't torment us both for the rest of our lives.  If you can find a way to do this without subjecting him to—" His voice faltered, but he persevered.  "—to that fate… then we can revisit this discussion at a later time."

 

There was no way to make peace with the fact that moving forward meant making a decision for a man who could no longer voice his objections.  Shunsui still doubted he may ever be able to make this call, responsibility be damned, but at the very least, he could buy himself some time and place his trust in Urahara in the hopes that he might find something, _anything_ they could both live with.  Anything he would not hate himself for repeating before the violet, beseeching eyes of Kuchiki Rukia, who –in between running a Division in disarray- requested updates on her Captain's condition daily. 

 

Urahara stared back, his expression inscrutable.  He appeared to be neither surprised by the request, nor exactly amenable to it, and Shunsui found that he couldn't fault him for it, considering the magnitude of the requested task. 

 

"Now, now, there's no need to make such a face, Kisuke-kun," Shunsui said, giving him a hearty pat on the back.  If he was insulted by the affectionately diminutive title, Urahara didn't show it.  "I have _complete_ faith in your abilities," he added and, cheeky grin aside, there was no hint of exaggeration in his voice.

 

Urahara did little more than give a feeble nod in response and drag his feet down the corridor, wearing a scowl befitting someone who wasn't certain whether they were awake or still dreaming.  Shunsui watched him go, feeling Nanao's eyes on him long before she made her presence known.

 

"Are you going to scold me?" Shunsui said, his back still turned to her.

 

Nanao stepped out of the shadows she'd been occupying for the greater part of his conversation, then stepped into the light next to him, her eyes guarded.

 

"No, sir," she said.

 

"I suppose there's a first time for everything," Shunsui said, bestowing her with what he considered to be his most winning smile.  True to form, Nanao stared back blankly.  "Well then, if you're not already swamped, might I ask for—?"

 

Before he could even finish his sentence, Nanao had withdrawn her brush, holding it aloft over her ever-present binder.  "Of course, sir."

  

"I would like you to compose five copies of an identical letter to be sent out to the High Noble clans of Soul Society," Shunsui said.  "I'll leave the wording up to you."

 

Nanao paused mid-scribbling, her glasses slipping down her nose.  "Five?"

 

"Yes, fi— Ah.  One fewer letter to send, I guess," Shunsui said.  "You'll take care of the paperwork for the Ise Clan?"

 

"As you wish, sir.  What am I looking for?"

 

"Any record your family has kept on the ascension ritual for the creation of a new Soul King."

 

And as he said the words, for the briefest of moments, Shunsui allowed himself to feel young again, his body singing with a sensation teetering on the cusp of hope.

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 24 TH, 2003 A.D., THE SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

The glare of the phone screen made his eyes sting as he read the same text message for the fifth time, trying to will the information to commit to short-term memory.  The balmy summer breeze was not helping matters, whispering to his susceptible, aching muscles daydreams of lazy afternoons spent in bed in all the languid audacity of a fat house cat.

 

Blinking, Urahara Kisuke forced himself to physically stop right in the middle of the busy square and look up.  The sudden halt caused a visible arch in the constant traffic of Soul Reapers hurrying to and from their assigned duties.  His vision swam momentarily, the outline of the swerving men and women growing hazier.  Everything from the hum of collective chatter to his own movements had taken on a muted, drunken quality, as if he were submerged underwater.

 

Struggling to find something to anchor himself to reality and get on with his day, Kisuke let his gaze wander until it zeroed in on the construct that looked out of place even in the midst of a city in shambles.

 

From a distance, he imagined it must've made for an even odder sight to the unknowing eye.  Like a smear of black ink in water, it spread out, then curled back unto itself, a living swath of darkness, a black wave crashing ceaselessly against the walls of its invisible prison.   

 

His wasn't the only set of eyes that seemed to be inexorably drawn to it, despite efforts to the contrary.  The closer he approached, the more he could feel it, the magnetic pull of the pulsating mass of power.  Every now and then, when he looked close enough, he swore he could see the flash of a familiar pair of brown eyes beneath the swirling black mass.  Or perhaps it was his own conscience weighing heavily on his shoulders, little though he felt the owner of said eyes deserved or wanted his pity.

 

It was all the incentive he needed to snap out of it and get moving. 

 

Glancing at his phone, he managed to translate the formerly meaningless symbols into words, at long last registering that his presence was required at the SRDI.  Pace turning brisk, Kisuke averted his gaze and made a sharp turn into the corner, hurrying along the paved path leading to the Twelfth Division grounds and the research center. 

 

As he approached the large, heavy gates, however, a number of familiar spiritual signatures in the air caught his attention.  Pausing in mid-step, Kisuke reached out, pinpointing the source a short distance away along the perimeter of the walls.

 

Letting out a sigh, he straightened out the rim of his hat and followed the signatures, coming face-to-face with a bizarre, but ultimately expected sight.

 

Kuchiki seemed to be running the show, standing atop Abarai's shoulders and urging on a reluctant-looking Sado, while Inoue watched in what he could only call polite disbelief.  Kuchiki's voice was nearly drowned out by Ganju's loudly expressed disagreement.  And over by the side, Ishida appeared to be eager to distance himself from them, glasses held in one hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Unless Kisuke was very much mistaken, Kurosaki-san's friends had taken it upon themselves to attempt to infiltrate the SRDI.  _Attempt being the operative word._

 

"…still don't get why you're insisting _you_ be the one at the top of the py—"

 

"Because it's _my_ plan!"

 

"You _do_ realize that Glasses here is the third tallest?"

 

"Please leave me out of this."

 

"Th-that doesn't— Sado's added height will get us over the wall!  Inoue, back me up here!"

 

"I— Kuchiki-san… I don't think… That is…"

 

In the heat of the argument, no-one even sensed him approaching until he very deliberately uncloaked his spiritual force and gently cleared his throat.

 

Five heads turned at once in his direction –Ishida quickly pushed his glasses back on- their faces a mixture of surprise and embarrassment upon being caught red-handed. 

 

Kuchiki was the one who recovered first, and losing no time, she plopped down to seat herself on Abarai's shoulders and pressed her ankles against his sides, not unlike spurring on a steed.  Arms wound tightly before her chest, she glared down at him, her tone instantly confrontational.  "Urahara!  We _demand_ an explanation for this—"

 

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Kisuke said, not bothering to smother the amused grin that was now spreading on his lips –impressive though Abarai's towering stature was.  "It seems almost foolish to ask, given this… configuration, but may I inquire as to what exactly you're all doing here?"

 

Ishida, Inoue and Sado immediately avoided one another's gaze, growing a sudden, all-consuming interest in the –admittedly luxuriously paved- ground.      

 

It was Kuchiki who answered, her defiant expression still unwavering.  "Well since _no-one_ is willing to give us an update on Ichigo—"

 

"You figured you'd take matters into your own hands?" Kisuke said.

 

"Seriously though, what is this wall made out of, Sekkiseki—" Abarai said, thumb pointing toward the walls behind him.

 

"I am _telling_ you, it's not Sekkiseki—"

 

"—Shut up, Ganju," Abarai went on, undeterred.  "We can't even form stepping platforms anywhere in the vicinity."

 

"No, it's not Sekkiseki," Kisuke said.  "That would be impractical, given the work that needs to take place within the enclosure."

 

"HA! _Told_ you!"

 

"It is protected by a barrier that negates the spiritual force of anyone but individuals who have been granted entry beforehand," Kisuke explained.  "And even if you physically reached the top, it would still not allow you to pass through."

 

"How do you even know this?" Kuchiki asked, a crease forming in the middle of her brow.

 

"Because I designed it."

 

"Yes, well… The fact remains that we're not going _anywhere_ until we get an update on Ichigo!" Kuchiki said.

 

This time, he words were not met with a single iota of embarrassment or dissent from the rest of the group.  Kisuke's eyes skimmed over the determined gazes of them all, coming to settle to Inoue's softer, supplicating eyes.

 

"Urahara-san, please…" she said.  "It's been six days with no news.  All we want to know is if Kurosaki-kun is doing well."

 

"It ain't right," Ganju piled on.  "Keeping him locked up like that after everything he went through—"

 

"Kurosaki-san is not being held against his will, I assure you," Kisuke cut him off.  "We're simply working hard to make certain he can return to Karakura Town without adversely affecting the environment.  As you well know—" He turned to Kuchiki and Abarai.  "—the Gotei will not allow him to go back home otherwise.  And the sooner we can make this a reality, the sooner he can see his family again, which I'm sure you'll all agree is the priority here."

 

At the sound of this, even Kuchiki's defiant attitude seemed to take a blow and she shrank in on herself, determinedly avoiding his gaze. 

 

All at once, Kisuke regretted his somewhat brusque tone.  After all, he was not unsympathetic to their plight, or Kurosaki-san's, for that matter.  Normally, only family was granted visitation rights within the confines of the SRDI, and only after special dispensation; a state-of-the-art lab bore little resemblance to a hospital, after all.  With Isshin back in Karakura to see to his daughters, however, Kurosaki-san had had little in the way of company these past few days.  Yoruichi-san was the sole exception, and even if Kisuke hadn't personally lobbied for her presence, he knew the SRDI technicians would be hard-pressed to find a way to keep her out as it was. 

 

Given their progress so far, Kurosaki-san would most likely be able to return home in a couple of days, which would give him very little time to say his goodbyes to those who wouldn't be returning alongside him.

 

Kisuke let out a sigh.  "I might—" Five pairs of bright eyes looked up in unison.  "—be able to get you in—"

 

"Thank you, Urahara-san!"

 

Gently waving down Inoue while avoiding her gaze –it really was quite like being exposed to direct sunlight- Kisuke went on.  "—But it won't be until later in the day.  The process of granting you entry takes some time."      

 

It took a few minutes of reassurances that he would, indeed, be calling on them all later in the afternoon before the group finally dispersed, allowing him to return to the task at hand.

 

 _Only thirteen hours to go until the day is over,_ Kisuke thought with a rueful grimace, massaging his permanently aching shoulders as he made his way back to the entrance. 

 

Three meters high and hulking, the gate stood before him, immovable, the words 'Shinigami Research and Development Center' greeting guests at the top.  As Kisuke held up one hand, the seemingly unyielding polished wood rippled to accommodate the shape of his hand, the hidden identification plate scanning his reiatsu.  With a distant click, and a long-drawn, loud groan, the heavy, sliding gate withdrew, leaving a red barrier in its wake: the second layer of protection.  Kisuke stepped in through the thick film of scarlet and into the SRDI enclosure. 

 

A lot had changed in the days since the –then budding- institute had been little more than a glorified warehouse.  In the nine years from its inception to Kisuke's departure from Soul Society, the SRDI had grown to a sprawling complex with individual laboratories dedicated to specific branches, and in the one hundred years since, it had grown even more.

 

Kisuke made a beeline for the main and largest building, the original laboratory that now bore the title: Reinō Spiritual Ability Research Facility.  Reciprocating every greeting with a curt nod and a guarded smile, he weaved through the researchers crowding the testing area, heading straight for the partly isolated workstation all the way in the back of the large, open chamber. 

 

Kurosaki-san was sitting on his assigned cot, clad in the standard white lab gown, drumming his fingers against the mattress as Akon-san stood before him, going through the notes on his binder sheaf by sheaf.  The only oddity in the picture was Yoruichi.  Perched on the windowsill as usual, she was no longer a cat, but was instead dressed in a Shihakushō. 

 

"Good morning, everyone," Kisuke said as he approached, his eyes lingering on Yoruichi, lips curving up in greeting.  "Well, well… isn't _this_ a nostalgic sight." Though the Shihakushō lacked the modifications she had once inflicted upon her own pairs, the sight of her in the black robes evoked the kind of vestigial memories that slowly expanded and reached maturity deep within his chest, filling him up with a warmth that was capable of soothing any and all worries away, however momentarily.

 

The smirk she graced him with in response was only mildly accusatory.  "You didn't expect me to keep wearing your haori forever, did you?  And those gowns are itchy as hell."

 

"Thanks for the reminder, Yoruichi-san," Kurosaki-san grumbled, absently scratching his shoulder.

 

"You got her to wear a lab gown?" Kisuke asked Akon, eyebrows arching sky-high.

 

Curiously enough, Akon's ears burned bright red in response.  He suddenly seemed to be trying to bury his nose behind his binder.

 

"He _tried_ ," Yoruichi said, her smirk growing broader.  "He said no cat hair in the lab, so I obliged." 

 

"…Ah."

 

"I only put one on till Suì-Fēng could get me a Shihakushō because their poor little hearts couldn't take it." 

 

Clearly eager to change the subject, a still beet-red Akon handed Kisuke the binder.  "The report you asked for, Kisuke-san," he muttered, not meeting his eye.

 

At the very least, his efforts to provide Kurosaki-san with some companionship and a distraction while he remained within the SRDI had proven fruitful.  Besides, there were few people he trusted to keep Captain Kurotsuchi at a distance, should he decide to leave his self-imposed isolation in his personal lab and take an interest in Kurosaki-san; Yoruichi easily made the top of that list.  

 

Kisuke took the binder, eyes flitting to Yoruichi for one last time in amusement, then set about reading the report.  "Excellent work, Akon-san," he said after a few moments of silence.  "Have you resolved the calibration issues yet?"

 

"No, not yet," Akon said.  "But I have a feeling we're approaching this the wrong way: we shouldn't be calibrating with a set limit in mind, but rather set up the bangles to—"

 

"—activate during _both_ fixed time intervals and sudden spikes in reiatsu, I agree," Kisuke said, nodding as he reached the salient part in Akon's report.  "Well then," he said, snapping the binder shut and handing it back to Akon.  "Let's give it a try, shall we?"

 

Kurosaki looked up as Kisuke came to take a seat across him on the cot, holding out his wrists.  A pair of slim, silver bangles gleamed against his skin, version thirty seven of the SRDI's latest reiatsu dampener prototype.  Kisuke hooked up a slim, double pronged cable on either bangle, inserting the other end into the laptop terminal Akon handed him, then brought up the configuration panel. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kurosaki hovering on the verge of speech, his gaze traveling back and forth between Akon, Yoruichi and himself.  When Akon excused himself for a moment, leaving to answer a call from the Communication Research Section, Kurosaki finally spoke. 

 

"I've been hearing people talking."

 

Keeping his eyes on the terminal, fingers flying over the keys, Kisuke only glanced at him once in acknowledgement.  "About?"

 

"The Soul King," Kurosaki-san said, lowering his voice down to a near whisper.

 

"…Oh?"

 

"There needs to be a new one, right?  That… that barrier you've set up… it won't last forever, will it?"

 

It was only for a second, but Kisuke's finger faltered over the 'Space' button.

 

He had lost count of the amount of times he'd been on the receiving end of the same question over these past few days.  It was a stressful situation, living under the constant, imminent threat of their very world crumbling apart and he understood the gnawing worry better than anyone.

 

On those rare occasions when a few hours' sleep was a commodity he could afford, he often chose to forgo it altogether, for even exhaustion was not a powerful enough force to overcome the nightmares that always seemed to plague him.  Half-formed, scarlet-colored images of a devastated Karakura, of Nel arriving a moment too late, of Yoruichi and Yūshirō lying broken in his arms, and lately that of Kurosaki-san, bound and rent asunder, his blood-curdling scream tumbling, fractured out of Kisuke's own mouth as he would hurl himself upright in bed, soaked in cold sweat, hand shaking uncontrollably as it wrapped around his throat.

 

Some nights, when caught in the hazy, fine line between sleep and wakefulness, he would allow himself a single second to accept the horrifying truth: these were not always mere nightmares, but often _memories_.  And after his discussion with the Captain Commander, the mental image of Yoruichi taking Kurosaki's place on the altar was one he knew he would never be able to escape.  

 

Not until he could set things right.

 

"No, it won't," Kisuke said, urging himself to focus again.

 

"I'm not even sure how that thing works, to be honest," Kurosaki said.  "Not that I don't think you know what you're doing," he hurried to add.  "It's just…"

 

At that, Kisuke gave him a grin.  "Ever since Yhwach absorbed the former Soul King and took its place, his continued existence was all that was keeping our worlds intact," he said.  "Now, this posed a bit of a conundrum—"

 

"Because we wanted him dead, yeah."

 

"Precisely," Kisuke said.  "The moment Yhwach died, all remaining traces of the Soul King's reiatsu would vanish with him.  So… how do we keep him both dead and alive?"

 

"The barrier?"

 

Kisuke nodded.  "It's a modification of a forbidden spell that more or less freezes time.  The second you landed the final blow, the spell was cast, preserving Yhwach in a state where he is, technically speaking, both alive and dead."  _Schrödinger's Quincy, as it were_.  "The moment the barrier is dissolved…"

 

"He's going to die. For good."

 

"Along with the Soul King's remaining reiatsu."

 

"So… You're waiting until you can find a replacement and then you can lift it?"

 

"Exactly."

 

The explanation seemed to ease some of Kurosaki's worries, but not the most pressing one.  "What will happen to Aizen when you do that?  I mean… is he… is he even still alive?  Trapped in there?"

 

The mental image of the brown eyes beneath the swaths of black reiatsu came back to him as though it had never left, fighting to enter the forefront once more, but Kisuke pushed it back.  "The Hōgyoku is keeping him alive."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Oh, I'm sure," Kisuke said, unable to stifle a rueful grin.  "The Hōgyoku has a rather well-developed self-preservation instinct.  It wants to live on, and keeping Aizen-san alive is the only means to ensure its continued survival.  For the time being."

 

This time around, Kurosaki didn't seem to be satisfied by the response.  "You still haven't told me what's going to happen to him," he said, following a short pause.  "After."

 

Kisuke had known he would one day have to face the oncoming follow-up question; he knew his own student well enough to no longer be surprised by his bottomless capacity to forgive and protect even those who had once harmed him.

 

"He helped," Kurosaki piled on in response to Kisuke's silence.

 

He couldn't quite meet his eyes as he nodded.  "I know he did."

 

"Doesn't that… count?  I mean… I know he's not…"

 

"I'm afraid Aizen-san's fate isn't up to me," Kisuke said.  Editing one last line of code, he saved the new configuration and finally looked up, locking gazes with Kurosaki.  "I can assure you that he will remain unscathed until we are ready to lift the barrier and will most certainly survive the process.  What happens to him afterward is Soul Society's decision."

 

It was the truth, but the look in Kurosaki's eyes told Kisuke that he knew all too well his input was one that would weigh heavily when that day came.  Kurosaki hadn't so much asked for his assessment of the situation, but had rather made a silent request for mercy.  "He's never going to change if people don't give him a chance," Kurosaki said.

 

Try as he might, he could not stop himself from smiling at the boy.  "That is true," Kisuke said, setting the laptop aside and removing the cord.  "Why don't you go give this a try?"

 

Kurosaki looked like he would very much like to continue this discussion, but he seemed to accept Kisuke's polite dismissal all the same.  Nodding, he pushed himself off the cot and made his way over to the open testing area just as Akon returned.

 

Leaning against the wall, arms folded before him, Kisuke watched Kurosaki attempt to manipulate his reiatsu, testing the limits of the dampeners. 

 

Soundlessly, Yoruichi jumped off her perch and came up to stand beside him, her eyes on their student as well.  "Sometimes I forget just how young he is."

 

Kisuke let out a sigh.  "I know."

 

As he watched Kurosaki, however, Kisuke couldn't help but feel like the world's greatest hypocrite.  It hadn't been that long ago that he had asked for Kurosaki's forgiveness himself, and the boy had given it readily, along with his trust, little though he had deserved it.  Kurosaki, Kuchiki, Inoue… Either one of them would have been perfectly justified to hate him, to never trust him again, Kuchiki most of all, and yet none of them had ever held a grudge.

 

Unbidden, his fingers flew to the stiches running down his right cheek, absently stroking the jagged seam of flesh that Inoue, despite her most earnest efforts, had been unable to heal.  He didn't think he would ever forget the look of utter dejection in her eyes as he had smiled and drawn her hand away, reassuring her that even she could never heal what he had willingly given away. 

 

Benihime's power was as hard and inflexible as steel.  The seemingly unrestricted power to overcome any injury and barrier, no matter how impenetrable, came at a steep cost.  And the choice to become less of himself, sacrifice part of his power for a permanent cure, stepping into battle in anything other than his full potential, was not one he would've ever made.

 

An eye for two lives was a trade he would've made a thousand times over, and he had always suspected his and Inoue's respective powers were a little too similar to be allowed to work in tandem.   

 

And yet she had still tried, she had still mourned his own loss and her inability to help with an intensity he didn't feel he deserved.

 

 _Nothing like the unbridled passion of youth to make one feel obsolete._     

 

The sun had long ago set on his tenure as an instrumental part of this world, but he had promised himself he would not bow out before doing his part in paving the way for them.  And as hypocritical as it was of him, he was not willing to allow Kurosaki's kindness to become the bane of their new world.

 

"Kisuke-san, I think it's working."

 

With a gentle jerk of his head, Kisuke refocused his attention on Kurosaki and Akon, grinning at the victorious look on the former's flushed, sweat-streaked face.  "Good show, Kurosaki-san," he said.  "We'll run a final round of diagnostics tomorrow morning and then you're free to go."

 

"We're going home?" Yoruichi said, eagerness coloring her tone as she turned to him.

 

Kisuke met her eye, smirking.  "I fear for the Captain Commander's continued safety if we stay here any longer."

 

Rolling her eyes, Yoruichi refused to acknowledge the event and pump his ego, changing the subject at once.  "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, before we leave."

 

"Oh?"

 

"It can wait for a bit," she said, motioning toward the testing area.  "You'd better go stop that lunkhead before he blows himself up and we're stuck here for another week."

 

Kisuke turned just in time to see Kurosaki attempting to release what he was _certain_ was a catastrophic amount of reiatsu.  A pale-looking Akon seemed to agree, judging by his strongly worded reprimands.  With a sigh, Kisuke hurried forward, feeling very much vindicated in his foresight to never, _ever_ even attempt to teach Kurosaki any Kidō. 

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 25 TH, 2003 A.D., OFFICIAL SENKAIMON GATE, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

The portal stood in the midst of the debris, tall and pulsating with raw energy, the polished surface of the double shōji gleaming in the bright morning light.  What had started out as a quick, scheduled farewell had turned into something more akin to a small, impromptu party; it seemed that just about half of the Gotei had turned up to say their goodbyes.

 

Idly, Yoruichi thought of Tessai, Ururu and Jinta who were waiting on the other end, and their reaction upon witnessing the small parade of passers-by that would be crossing their threshold within the next few minutes. 

 

Ichigo and his friends had taken the longest, and Yoruichi would be lying if she claimed she hadn't just barely held herself back from kicking them in through the portal herself.  Mostly, it pissed her off that she was dangerously close to having to fork over ten thousand yen to an insufferably smug blonde.  But she wasn't going to go down without a fight.  As far as she was concerned, there was _still_ no tangible proof that idiot Ichigo had set his sights on a certain brunette 'a while ago,' to quote Kisuke.

 

Which begged the question as to whyhe had even bothered making that dress for Inoue in the first place, but Yoruichi was certain she didn't want to know what he'd meant when he'd said he felt he owed Inoue a favor. 

 

The Karakura kids were quickly followed by Yukio and Riruka, and by the time it was the Visored's turn, the crowd in the small square had thinned out significantly.  Yoruichi's eyes lingered on Kisuke as he leaned down to mutter something to Hiyori.  Whatever it was, it made the girl shoot him a puzzled look.

 

Yoruichi was sorely tempted to make an attempt to listen in, but she could no longer ignore the pair of supplicating eyes that had been beaming at her with soul-penetrating pathos for a solid few minutes now.

 

Letting out a sigh, Yoruichi took a seat on a fallen piece of rubble and beckoned Yūshirō over.  "Come here."

 

Leaving Suì-Fēng's side with a pleased start, Yūshirō bounded over to her, ponytail bouncing, and took a seat next to her.

 

"Remember that talk we had a month ago?" Yoruichi said.  "When you asked where I live in the human world?"

 

Yūshirō nodded.  "Kisuke-san's shop.  With Tessai-san," he said, in the tone a diligent student might employ when eager to please their instructor.

 

"Right.  And two kids around your age –well the human equivalent anyway- Ururu and Jinta."

 

Yūshirō nodded again.

 

"I had a talk with Kisuke yesterday, and he agrees that it might be a good idea for us to take a short vacation," Yoruichi said.  "We could both use it, and he needs a clear head if he's going to be returning here to help with reconstruction.  I haven't spoken to Tessai and the kids yet, but I'm sure they'll be up for it.  And… I was wondering if you'd like to join us, too."

 

For a second there, Yūshirō's expression was almost identical to Kisuke's when she had first expressed the desire to invite him over to Karakura.  Stunned surprise had been followed by a smile she'd had to look away from, feeling her cheeks burn, as Kisuke had agreed to the idea without a second thought.  There had been a particularly knowing tone in his voice, and she knew he hadn't been fooled by her counterfeit nonchalance, but he didn't once bring it up again, or in any way press the issue further.

 

Yūshirō's eyes, wide as small saucers, had yet to blink.  "Go on vacation?  With you?"

 

Yoruichi nodded.  "Somewhere in the human world.  Perhaps for a week or so.  What do you th—?"

 

Before she'd even had the time to finish her sentence, Yūshirō had thrown his arms around her middle.  Sincerely hoping he wasn't about to cry, and eager to put distance between them before people –a certain nosy shopkeeper in particular- started noticing, she struggled with uncooperative limbs in an effort to return the gesture in some small measure. 

 

Her hands eventually settled on a rigid, awkward pat on her brother's head.   "I take it that's a yes?"

 

When he pulled back, Yoruichi was relieved to see Yūshirō had only welled up just a touch, but if his tremulous smile was any indication, full-blown waterworks weren't far behind.  "I'LL START PACKING RIGHT NOW—"

 

Chuckling, she held up a hand.  "Hooold your horses, we won't be leaving _immediately_ ," she said.  "Probably next week; we need to get everything in the shop in order first if we're going away.  But you can come a few days earlier, meet everyone and I'll show you around Karakura."

 

Though he visibly deflated at the revelation that he wouldn't be joining them straightaway, Yūshirō's overall enthusiasm had yet to wane as he asked, "What do I need to bring to the Human World?"

 

"Not much.  Books and other stuff, if you want to.  No need for extra clothes, you can't wear these in Karakura," she said, with a nod at his outfit.

 

"Why not?"

 

"'Cause everyone will be looking at you funny, dummy.  Jinta can loan you something until we take you shopping for human clothes," Yoruichi said.  She could tell Yūshirō was eager for more details, but there was little point in getting him excited before she had even made certain he would be allowed to visit.  "I'll talk to mother and father about this.  And I'll see you in a few days; I'll send word so you'll know to expect me."

 

There was a spring in his step as she led him back to Suì-Fēng, much to her relief; she didn't think she could stomach a longwinded goodbye right about now, and she tried to communicate as much to Suì-Fēng herself who also looked crestfallen at her imminent departure.

 

"You'll see him back to the estate, Suì-Fēng?"

 

"Of course, Yoruichi-sama," she said, giving a curt bow of her head.

 

"Well, there's no need to prolong this, it's not like I won't be seeing you again soon enough," Yoruichi said, smiling at them both.

 

"You… you will?" Suì-Fēng said.

 

"With the situation being what it is, I suspect I'll be making regular visits to Soul Society for the foreseeable future," she said.  "Go on now, everyone else has cleared out."

 

Yoruichi watched their retreating forms for a while, waving back when Yūshirō looked over his shoulder at her with a watery grin. 

 

 _Honestly, the little fool._  

 

Catching the tail end of the conversation a few feet behind her, Yoruichi turned around just in time to see Hiyori making her way toward the portal, Kisuke and Hirako waving goodbye at her.

 

"Hiyori-san, don't forg—"

 

"I ain't tellin' them a _thing_ , you'll be seein' them in a coupla minutes yerself!"

 

With a sigh, Kisuke watched her disappear through the portal, Hirako patting his back bracingly.  He was the last one to walk out of the abandoned square, leaving an eerie silence in his wake.  Just moments ago, the portal had been surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers, buzzing with conversations both emotional and cheerful, but now it was just the two of them left.

 

Kisuke's eyes stayed on the portal for a moment, then he seemed to collect himself and blinked a few times, whipping out his fan.  "We haven't forgotten anyone, have we?" he said absently, glancing around the square he already knew was empty.

 

"Nope, we're all set.  No more delaying this," Yoruichi said, ambling up to him.

 

He met her gaze with the kind of counterfeit nonchalance that hadn't worked on her in centuries.  "Surely you cannot blame me for wanting to make certain—?"

 

"They won't care, Kisuke," she said, coming to a stop before him, her arms crossed before her chest. 

 

"I… I'm not sure I und—"

 

"Tessai.  The kids," Yoruichi said.  "They won't care about any of this," she said, motioning at his marked face with a gentle nod of her head.  "You didn't need to ask Hiyori to warn them,"

 

Though his smile slowly faded, Kisuke maintained his casual veneer with moderate success.  It might've worked better if he hadn't been rubbing his thumbs against the closed fan to the point of obsession.  "Been eavesdropping, have we?" he said, a faltering grin dancing on his lips.

 

"No, you're just _that_ easy to read."

 

His sudden bark of laughter was a welcome sight.  " _Ouch_ ," he said, shaking his head.  "Such cruelty… Not even the tiniest concession for the poor cripple?"

 

"The day I treat you any different because of those scars is the day I die, Urahara Kisuke," Yoruichi said, fully returning his smirk. 

 

"As has been well-documented," he said with a grin, absently touching the area surrounding his intact eye.  Only a couple of days ago, it had still been a vivid purple in color, a lingering reminder of the punch she had thrown the second she had regained consciousness and caught a glimpse of his worried face hanging over her.  To his credit, he had taken it without a word and hadn't even attempted to heal the bruise until a few days later.

 

"As has been well-documented," Yoruichi repeated, nodding.  "So why not give Tessai and the kids the benefit of the doubt?"

 

Kisuke stared at her proffered hand as though she were asking him to take a leap of faith.  Swallowing hard, he met her softened gaze, a silent conversation taking place in their eyes.  At long last, her nonverbal encouragement seemed to win over his own doubts, and Kisuke reached out for her hand, taking in a sharp breath when her thumb brushed over his scarred fingers.

 

"Let's go home," she said, pulling him forward.

 

In the end, she regretted not making a bet out of it.  If she had, she might've won back the ten thousand yen she now owed him, after Ururu barrelled into his unsuspecting arms the second they walked in through the portal.  

 

* * *

 

 

**JUNE 26 TH, 2003 A.D., THE ROYAL REALM, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

If it were physically possible for his brains to come tumbling straight of his mouth, Shinji was certain it was about to happen _right now._  His mouth stretched wide into what felt like the millionth yawn within the span of half an hour, eyes watering.

 

"Fuck's sake…" he muttered, taking a hearty swig of warm coffee off his foam cup and leaning back against the wall.

 

Sniffing, he blinked away the tears that stung his bleary eyes and took in the devastated landscape before him.  An entire week's worth of clean-up work from all divisions had barely managed to put a dent on the mountain that still lay ahead of them.  It would take months for the debris alone to be cleared out and years before either the Royal Realm or the Seireitei could return to even resembling their previous state.

 

The mere thought of what lay ahead was enough to give him a headache.

 

"Are you here _early_?"

 

With a start, Shinji began to swivel around just as his eyes and ears caught up to the visual of Suì-Fēng appearing beside him.  "Mornin'," he said.  "And uhh, I guess?  You're not late, are you?"

 

Suì-Fēng gave him a withering stare that plainly stated she was _never_ late for anything and found the mere suggestion otherwise offensive.

 

Shinji hadn't exactly checked the time before leaving the barracks, trusting that Momo would've woken him up in time.  Apparently she'd done him one better and sent him off early, which at least explained her muttering about him taking surprisingly little time to do his hair this morning.  Shinji had chosen not to dignify that with an answer.

 

"Coffee?" Shinji said as he pushed himself off the wall, holding out the cup before Suì-Fēng.  Though he wasn't exactly holding his breath that she might accept, it felt a bit rude not to offer at least in the spirit of camaraderie, given the unholy hour they'd been ordered to get out of bed.

 

Crinkling her nose, Suì-Fēng took a careful sniff, then met his eye over the rising steam spirals, her brow knit.  "Ko-hi?"

 

"Ohhh damn, I guess you wouldn't have tried it?  It's a hot beverage—"

 

"Yes, I can see that."

 

"Helps wake you up."  He decided not to share that this particular variety had been a gift from Kisuke and was his personal, industrial-strength choice when all other methods of staying awake failed.

 

"I am already awake."

 

 _Well, this oughta be a **fun** mornin'._   "Right.  Never mind then," Shinji said, withdrawing the cup and taking another swig.  "Shall we?"

 

Suì-Fēng nodded, folding her hands behind her back as they set off on the path that led up to the looming, ice-encrusted palace at the crown of the hill: Silbern.

 

It was a testament to their former enemy's power that one week later, they still could not claim with any degree of confidence that they had uncovered all of its secrets.  Shinji had no way of knowing what the interior of the former Royal Palace might have looked like, but he had zero doubts that by the time Yhwach had finished redecorating, the resulting structure held more than enough secret rooms and corridors to cater to its former owner's paranoia.

 

A brief, sideways glance told him that Suì-Fēng wore an identical expression of disgust to the one he did as she glared at the offending building during their ascent. 

 

"Makes you think, don't it?"

 

"Hmmm?"

 

"About the Soul King," Shinji said.  "The kinda power it takes to transform this entire place so quickly… Yhawch put up that damn eyesore in the blink of an eye just to intimidate us.  Soul King musta been packin' some serious mojo."  

 

"I daresay Yhwach was powerful enough on his own to begin with," Suì-Fēng said.  "But I see your point."

 

Curious though he was to see the interior, Shinji had to admit that the prospect of skulking around while watching others do the grunt work bored him to tears.  If there was anyone sinister hiding within Silbern this whole time they would've found them by now, but he could understand why the Captain Commander had found it prudent to send them over to supervise, just in case. 

 

As though she had read his mind, Suì-Fēng let out a curt grunt.  "This is so pointless; there is _so_ much work to be done and we're being wasted on babysitting," she muttered.

 

"No arguments there, but still… The Arrancar made a solid case about their leader bein' potentially held in one of the dungeons," Shinji said.  "She's not back in Hueco Mundo and they haven't been able to find her anywhere in the Seireitei, either."

 

Suì-Fēng scoffed.  "Oh _please_.  Those lowlifes are just milking the situation for all it's worth," she said, her eyes darkening.  "We've made it a little _too_ comfortable here for them; of _course_ they're not in any hurry to leave.  I wouldn't be surprised if their leader has been long ago slain and we're being dragged around for nothing.  Yhwach had no reason to keep her alive."

 

"Those _lowlifes_ helped."

 

"So did Aizen," Suì-Fēng said, head whipping around to face him.  "I trust you're not suggesting we should be rolling out the welcome carpet for _him_ as well?  The Arrancar only helped because losing meant the destruction of their world as well.  Same as Aizen.  It wasn't out of any sense of nobility, it was self-preservation, pure and simple."

 

Finding himself agreeing even partly with Suì-Fēng felt disconcerting, but thankfully, she still displayed her uncanny knack for presenting even the most undisputed truths in a confrontational tone that did her no favors.  "You _do_ realize that girl, Nelliel, is half the reason Yoruichi is still alive?"

 

Upon mention of her former master's name, Suì-Fēng's jaw tightened.  "Yes, well… even a stopped clock is right twice a day," Suì-Fēng said.  "Urahara was bound to make _one_ smart choice in his life, but contrary to him, I will _never_ trust a Hollow, even a _half_ a Hollow."

 

"Aww, stop it, yer makin' me blush."

 

His comment seemed to wake Suì-Fēng up to what she had just said.  Shinji might've imagined it, but he thought he spotted a hint of color on her cheeks before she once again adopted a dignified expression.  "That's not what I meant—"

 

"Those Arrancar are about as much Hollow as me and a few of yer other colleagues," Shinji said.

 

Letting out a sigh, Suì-Fēng rolled her eyes.  "If you're just going to take every little comment personally, like a child—"

 

Little though he might've normally cared about Suì-Fēng's opinion on this matter, her choice of words struck a nerve in him, unearthing memories and feelings he had thought had been buried deep.  "Yer damn right I'm going to take it personally!" Shinji said, coming to a sudden halt, the intensity of his tone also bringing her to a stop, her eyes wide open in surprise.  "I didn't _choose_ this crap, it was _forced_ on me, but I've made my peace with it, and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I let anyone make me feel ashamed for it."  

 

"I was _not_ trying to shame you," Suì-Fēng said, getting over her momentary shock with admirable –and infuriating- poise.  "Whatever part of you is Hollow, your allegiance is still with Soul Society, is it not?  Arrancar answer to a different authority."

 

"Is that what you _really_ think?" Shinji said.  "Or are ya just feedin' me the company line?"

 

He could see it in her eyes, the temptation to speak her mind, but Suì-Fēng did not yield to it, ever the soldier.  "It doesn't matter what _I_ think."

 

"'Course it does.  You're the one that has ta work with me, aintcha?" 

 

"I follow Soul Society's orders—"

 

"And Soul Society has made it _perfectly_ clear how it feels about half-breeds such as myself," Shinji spat at her. 

 

The small, logical part of him that understood he was lashing out at her for matters she had never had any say in tried to make its voice heard over the din.  But long-harbored resentment and bitterness always spoke louder than sanity, blinding him to the fact that he was beginning to sound less like himself, and more like someone else he knew all too well. 

 

"Y'all would've locked up Ichigo in a cage if ya weren't so goddamn terrified of him, and if he weren't so conveniently eager to save your asses time after time."

 

"Well, if our rules and our laws disgust you so much, why did you ever come back?"

 

"I—"

 

The honest answer was that he no longer knew. 

 

In the wake of the Winter War, Soul Society's offer had felt like the perfect opportunity to put the past behind them, to get a fresh start at the life they'd been forced to abandon for a full century.  Though he'd never admitted it to his peers, over the course of one hundred years, Shinji had often caught himself in the throes of a longing for his past life that far outweighed any resentment.  Articulating those errant thoughts, however, felt like it would've been a dismissal of the life they'd worked so hard to build in the human world.

 

When the offer had come, he had reasoned that returning to a Soul Society changed by its fateful clash with the ryoka was the right thing to do.  If Soul Society was willing to change, his reinstated position as a Captain of the Gotei would allow him to have a say, no matter how minor, in seeing that very change take place.  

 

Hiyori had disagreed.

 

 _That's puttin' it mildly_ , he thought, mentally cringing at his own choice of wording. 

 

Raised Hell felt like a more apt turn of phrase.  As far as she was concerned, returning to Soul society was nothing short of betrayal, and Shinji was coming to the realization that he had more or less been channelling her own words when taking out his anger on Suì-Fēng.  Perhaps he was a little angry at himself at his own ineffectiveness over the course of eighteen months.  Perhaps part of him felt like he was fighting a losing battle, pretending their world would ever truly change, but he had to believe otherwise. 

 

He needed to.

 

He had hoped time and some distance might help Hiyori come around to his way of thinking, but if their parting words just yesterday were any indication, her legendary stubbornness was as immovable a force as ever.  The Captain Commander had kindly informed them they were all welcome to return to Soul Society even if they were unwilling to rejoin the Gotei, and Shinji knew the rest of them were open to the idea, but were staying in Karakura out of a sense of loyalty.  Even Love, once Kisuke had caught wind of his manga addiction and _generously_ offered to meet that very need.

 

The only obstacle was Hiyori.  And if she was unwilling to take his word that Soul Society was changing, then he'd do her one better: he'd offer her tangible proof.  Starting with fixing this whole Arrancar mess.

 

Turning away from Suì-Fēng, Shinji resumed his ascent up the path.  "Let's just stop talkin' altogether, shall we?" he grumbled, fingernails digging into his foam cup.  "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave."

 

"Agreed." 

 

They walked the rest of the way in tense, pregnant silence, speaking only in response to the salutes of the Soul Reapers swarming the palace. 

 

Up close, it was easy to see that the palace hadn't escaped entirely unscathed, either.  In the wake of Ichigo and Orihime's clash against Yhwach, nearly half the structure had been obliterated.  Though the anterior chambers of the palace remained relatively unscathed, entering the structure was not unlike stepping up to the edge of a cliff, the floor giving way to a steep decline of debris, the roof blown apart completely.

 

Now wrapped up in cloaks provided by the regiment of Soul Reapers in charge of the clean-up, Shinji and Suì-Fēng surveyed the scene, being led down long, crumbling corridors and deserted quarters that had once housed the Wandenreich.  Their guide's breath hung in the air in small puffs as he outlined the areas covered by the crew so far and offered an overview of the work left to be completed. 

 

Observing a rough sketch of the palace outline alongside Suì-Fēng, Shinji privately thought that she was most likely right; the Arrancar Queen must've been moved elsewhere, or slain long ago, when the Wandenreich had first marched against Hueco Mundo.  With destruction far more widespread than he had expected, he hadn't realized the clean-up crew had so little left to explore before wrapping up operations on the site.  Still, Shinji felt they would be remiss if they didn't at the very least finish the circuit and get a chance to observe operations on the remainder of the palace. 

 

The former throne room was the last leg of the tour.  A room only in the vaguest sense, it bore more of a resemblance to a lunar landscape.  Whatever walls remained upright looked as though they might collapse at any given moment, the floor gouged out and littered with blackened craters where Ichigo and Yhwach's reiatsu had been unleashed.  The guide warned them the foundations of the Throne Room were no longer judged to be structurally stable, cautioning them to keep their footing light and their guard up.

 

As Shinji's eyes followed the dark shape of a crescent-like impression on the remaining ceiling, he felt a gentle gust of wind on his side and looked down just in time to find Suì-Fēng land on the other side of the room, coming out of a graceful Flash Step.  Yhwach's throne had survived the battle, and she was observing it carefully, sweeping her palms over the polished stone.

 

It wasn't until Shinji was deep into conversation with their guide about the possibility of any underground passages that she spoke up.

 

"Hirako."

 

Shinji looked up at her questioningly, only to find her beckoning him over, her forehead wrinkled in a deep scowl.  Instantaneously, Shinji crossed the room in a Flash Step of his own, crouching down next to her.

 

"Feel this," she said, guiding his hand to replace hers on a spot at the back of the throne.

 

Though the stone appeared to be smooth to the naked eye, Shinji could feel a series of crevices underneath his fingertips, as though he were tracing something etched there.  "Whoa," he said, following the outline until the stone felt smooth and unmarked, trying to mentally recreate the shape.  "Is… is that…?"

 

"The Quincy Zeichen," Suì-Fēng said.

 

Something about the hidden symbol, more specifically the _manner_ in which it had been concealed rang a bell within Shinji.  He had heard of this before, he just couldn't place the time or the circumstance.  Faced screwed up in concentration, he held up a hand upon Suì-Fēng's inquiry, trying to concentrate.  He'd read about this, in a report a _long_ time ago, back when he was still a young Soul Reaper of the Twelfth—

 

_The Twelfth._

  

Eyes snapping wide in recognition, he dug into his pocket for his cell phone and quickly dialed the familiar number.  "C'mon, c'mon… Pick _up,_ ya blockhead…" he muttered as he balanced the phone between cheek and shoulder, his fingers still tracing the outline of the hidden mark. 

 

It took nearly a solid minute of ringing before someone answered.  "Mwhuh?"

 

Not wasting any time, Shinji got to the point.  "You wrote a report back durin' the last war with the Quincy," he said.  "About a group of stragglers hidin' in a forest in Nagasaki."

 

"………Hirako-san?  Whu—?"

 

"Focus, Kisuke!" Shinji growled into the phone.  "The report.  About two centuries ago.  Group of Quincy in Nagasaki, concealin' their hideout using a mark that was hidden to the naked eye.  You figured out how ta get past it."

 

There was a drawn-out yawn on the other end of the line, but when he spoke again, Kisuke sounded a little more in control of his mental capacities.  "Yes?"

 

"Howdja do it?"          

 

Shinji nodded along at Kisuke's only half-coherent muttering, then terminated the call with a curt farewell.  Suì-Fēng's eyes were on him, waiting for an explanation, but Shinji turned toward their guide first.

 

"Oi, Tanaka-san!" he called all the way across the room.

 

"Captain Hirako?"

 

"Ya got any Twelfth Division Soul Reapers in the crew?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Have one a' them run down to the SRDI," Shinji said.  "And ask for a container or summat filled with Quincy reiatsu; Captain Kurotsuchi should have some on standby—"

 

"We have some on location," Tanaka said.  "Captain Kurotsuchi thought it might prove to be useful—"

 

"Well, he was right," Shinji said.  "Go get one, chop-chop."  

 

As the young Soul Reaper sped away, Shinji turned to Suì-Fēng.

 

"I remembered readin' about this back in the day," he explained.  "Kisuke was stationed in Nagasaki with the Thirteenth, hunting down a few stragglers that were provin' ta be difficult to locate.  The Central 46 was gettin' pretty antsy to end the war already, they even enlisted Onmitsukidō to join in the effort.  Eventually, they discovered the hideout was concealed behind a barrier of sorts—"

 

"With the same kind of marking?"

 

Shinji nodded at Suì-Fēng.  "It will only respond to Quincy reiatsu; that's why no-one was able to find it all week long."

 

"How do we know it won't only respond to _Yhwach's_ reiatsu?"

 

It was a fair question, and a likely scenario, Shinji thought with a cringe.  "I suppose we don't.  Just hafta wait and see."

 

In the end, they needn't have worried.  When Shinji opened up the small tube, allowing the sample of Quincy reiatsu to wash over the hidden mark, a loud rumble pierced the air, like stone grinding on stone.

 

Shinji and Suì-Fēng turned in unison, watching as the previously blank wall behind the throne began to shift.  As though an invisible mouth were blowing away a layer of dust, the outline of a hidden door was slowly revealed to them.  The grating, groaning sound rippled out into a soft, almost pneumatic hiss when the etching was complete, and Shinji met Suì-Fēng's eye.

 

Suì-Fēng turned to Tanaka who had joined them along with a small crew of Soul Reapers, their expressions a sea of identical masks of both intrigue and foreboding.  "Send a message to the Gotei at once," she said.  "Explain the situation and have a back-up force be on standby; we don't know what we may encounter inside.  Captain Hirako and I are going in; none of you are to follow."

 

Tanaka gave a curt nod and set about casting the Tenteikūra spell as Shinji stepped up to Suì-Fēng, his eyes on the previously hidden door; it stood twice as tall as him.  "What are ya thinkin'?"

 

"Nothing good," Suì-Fēng said with a grim expression, and Shinji could only silently agree.

 

When Tanaka had relayed the message to the rest of the Gotei, Shinji took a deep breath and pushed the large door open.  It put up little resistance, groaning open with a cloud of dust, revealing a pitch-black room on the other side.

 

Gripping her cloak tighter around her, Suì-Fēng held out a foot wearily, toeing at the floor before her.  When she was satisfied the way ahead was relatively safe, she took the plunge and entered, Shinji following behind her.  The moment they crossed the threshold, a previously invisible set of ascending, luminous steps began to form before their feet.

 

With the darkness thinning out, somewhat, Shinji could make out the silhouette of another door at the top of the stairway.  Swallowing hard, his fingers grazing the hilt of Sakanade, he began to climb the steps one by one, Suì-Fēng right beside him.  He could feel her spiritual pressure coiling within her like a spring, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice.               

 

They met no resistance, nor did Shinji sense anything amiss until they stood before the second door.  Reaching out, he searched for any signs of a presence behind the barrier, but could sense none.  He wouldn't be surprised if it had been designed to conceal its contents to the outside world.  Hand on the door, Shinji addressed Suì-Fēng.  "Ready?"

 

Her response was a sharp nod, her grey eyes alight with concentration.

 

Shinji pushed the door open, preparing himself for the worst, but even the knowledge that they had come to Silbern under explicit orders to aid the search for survivors couldn't have prepared him for the sight. 

 

The Arrancar had been right, after all.

 

Tier Harribel, Hueco Mundo's Queen and former Espada lay behind the door, and if Shinji's senses hadn't already been sharpened in preparation for an ambush, he may not have even realized she was still alive.  The cold, dank room she had been imprisoned within held no signs of a cot, or a recent meal, or any sort of comfort provided to prisoners of war. 

 

Next to him, he heard Suì-Fēng's sharp intake of breath, her voice a horrified whisper.  "Has… has she been here, like this, this whole time?"

 

Shinji's jaws clamped down together.  Tier Harribel's arms were bound to manacles suspended from the ceiling, the skin of her wrists raw and encrusted with dried blood.  Her knees bore similar marks, betraying she had not been moved from her kneeling position in quite a while, possibly since the start of her imprisonment.  One of her legs was pinned down to the floor, speared through with a rod.  Her clothes, a tattered outfit that might've been comfortable in Hueco Mundo offered little in protection from the cold in the glacial palace.  The outline of her ribcage was visible, her cheeks gaunt and her dark skin a pale, washed out version of its true self.  

 

Not wasting a moment, Suì-Fēng pulled off her cloak as she hurried toward her, throwing it over her shoulders.  Tier Harribel did not stir, nor give any indication that she was aware of their presence.

 

Shinji turned toward the door, issuing an order down to the crew that stood by the threshold, looking anxious.  "Get a medical team up there, stat.  And some water," he called.  "We've located the Arrancar Queen."

 

When he made his way over to Suì-Fēng, he could see that she was debating removing the rod from Harribel's leg, but thought better of it.  Face still screwed up in a mask of disgust, she was gently pawing at the Arrancar's face, examining the hollowed out cheeks and closed eyes.

 

"Kinda hard to keep your resolve when it's starin' you right in the face, ain't it?"

 

Suì-Fēng's head whipped around toward him, cold fury in her eyes.  "How can you even compare—?"

 

"Don't kid yourself, Suì-Fēng—" Shinji cut her off. 

 

As the Fourth Division members rushed to the scene, Suì-Fēng's eyes still on him, Shinji looked away, leaning against the cold, damp wall.  Even if Kisuke had been unwilling to go into detail, his trial had long ago gone into public record; he'd read the transcript, more times than he could count.

 

_"Further, the eight pitiable Captain-classes who were sacrificed for your evil experiments, including the Captain of the Fifth Division, are to be dealt with impartially as Hollows!"_

 

"—There was a time, not too long ago, when we would've done the same."   

 

Sometimes, he wasn't entirely convinced those days were over. 

 

* * *

 

**JULY 6 TH, 2003 A.D., KARAKURA HIGH SCHOOL, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN**

 

He was lost in thought again.

 

He wasn't the only one, of course.  With summer vacation approaching and the temperature climbing to uncomfortable plateaus, most students were counting down the days till the 20th, heads too full with vacation plans to pay attention to their schooling. 

 

And yet Orihime didn't have to shift her gaze over to Asano or Kojima to know that Kurosaki's eyes told a different story than those of a restless student.  He'd never been good at pretending, at masking his pain, nor did she need a particularly stellar memory to recall the last time he'd looked even remotely like himself.

 

Toying with the pen in her hands, she struggled not to allow the memories back into the forefront of her mind, but the battle was lost before it even truly began.

 

_"That makes this the third time, doesn't it?"_

_"Third time?"_

_"Saying goodbye."_

_"Fourth, actually.  But who's counting."_ He'd tried to sound casual, a match for Kuchiki's easy smile, but Orihime hadn't been fooled, even if others had.  Kurosaki's voice had been an open book to her.

 

It was the exact same voice _she_ used when she pretended not to care about the fact that lately, he only ever seemed marginally at peace was when he was with Ishida. 

 

The shrill ring of the school bell shook her straight out of her reverie, and Orihime hurried to avert her gaze, lest Kurosaki himself or anyone else find her openly staring at him.  Only yesterday, she'd had to pretend not to notice Tatsuki's lingering gaze as she'd been caught in the act of looking away. 

 

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichi-GO!" With a flounce, Asano flopped down on Kurosaki's back, much to the latter's annoyance.  "You're not getting away again; you promised this Friday we'd get coffee after school!"

 

"I did?" Kurosaki said, extricating himself, albeit far less violently than he had in the past.

 

"Yes, you did," Asano insisted.  "Mizuiro and Chad already said they're in.  Ladies, you're also welcome to join us," he said with a grin her and Tatsuki's way.  "And Ishida, if he wants."

 

Last week, Orihime recalled Kurosaki visibly doing some very quick, on the spot thinking, trying to come up with an excuse, but this time around, he had it ready.  "I might come find you guys later; I wanted to go see Urahara-san—"

 

"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW—"

 

"I won't be _that_ long, Keigo—"

 

"Urahara-san is not back yet," Orihime began to say, but her voice was drowned out by Asano's continued protests.

 

"—C'MOOOOOOOOOOOOON!"

 

"I didn't say _no_ , you moron, I just said—"

 

"Kurosaki-kun?"

 

Blinking, Kurosaki turned to look at her.  "Yes, Inoue?"

 

"Urahara-san isn't supposed to be back yet, remember?" she said.  "I asked Yoruchi-san and she said they weren't returning from Thailand until the 8th on Monday."

 

In all honesty, she couldn't tell if he was more crestfallen that Urahara hadn't returned yet, or because –her stomach plummeted at the realization- she had just unwittingly deprived him of an excuse not to join their group.  But before she had time to feel guilty, Kurosaki recovered, his façade firmly back in place.

 

"Then I guess I'm free," he said with a shrug at Asano, immediately turning around.  "OI! ISHIDAAA!"

 

From across the slowly emptying classroom, Ishida glared at Kurosaki, presumably for interrupting his discussion with Kunieda.  Or perhaps for making such a raucous.

 

"Coffee.  C'mon," Kurosaki said, jerking his head toward their group.

 

Pursing his lips, Ishida muttered something that looked like an apology and a quick goodbye to Kunieda, then began crossing the room over to them.  "Okay, _one_ , I am not your _dog_ to call and order around whenever you please, Kurosaki," he said, scowling.  "Two, I have to study tonight."

 

"Well good, coffee will help you stay up till late," Kurosaki said with a smirk.

 

Ishida continued to argue, but he didn't walk away.  If anything, he and Kurosaki led the way out of the classroom, still muttering among themselves, paying little mind to their surroundings.

 

Right before following along, Orihime caught Sado's eye, giving him a strained, but sympathetic smile in silent camaraderie.

 

Fiddling with the strap of her bag, trying to ignore Tatsuki's penetrating gaze, Orihime wondered just how much more distance she would need to cover to feel like she wasn't being left behind once more.

 

* * *

 

**JULY 27 TH, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN**

 

Her shoulder blades shifted, a gentle spasm rippling across the muscles of her strong back as his finger grazed the dip of her spine.  Yoruichi moaned softly, clutching her pillow tighter, stretching her lower half before she cracked one eye open.

 

"Hey."

 

"Hey," Kisuke greeted back with a smile, parting the curtain of hair before her eyes with his hand.  "Don't get up; just wanted to say goodbye—"

 

Blinking rapidly, Yoruichi pushed herself up to her elbows, her gaze falling upon the clock on the nightstand.  "What time is—?  _Eleven_ am?" she said, plopping back down on the futon with a groan, trying to rub the sleep off her eyes.  "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

 

"I tried," he said with a grin.  "You were comatose."  

 

Not that he was in any position to be pointing fingers.  

 

The first few days following their return to Karakura had all bled together in his mind, time becoming an endless loop of sleeping off the stress and exhaustion of the war, punctuated by the occasional break for food, then back to bed.  It wasn't until their vacation to Thailand that Kisuke had started feeling like himself once more, and though he'd still taken it easy –under threat of violence- for the following three weeks, he felt refreshed and eager to get back to research in earnest; working from a distance was proving to be ineffective, as he had suspected it would.    

 

Yoruichi's efforts to fall back into her regular rhythm were proving to be somewhat harder to pull off. 

 

"Hnnnghhh, I swear, it's like I'm sleeping off an entire lifetime's worth or sleep debt," she said, letting out a long, drawn-out yawn.  The second her eyes reopened, they narrowed right back into slits as she locked gazes with him.  "How come _you_ bounced back so quickly?"

 

Kisuke opened his mouth to speak, but Yoruichi cut him off at once.

 

"Never mind, like I don't already know," she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position.  The sheet slid down to her lap and Kisuke followed its movement, forcing his eyes back on her face at once… with a certain amount of difficulty.  She noticed, but let it slide without a comment.  "Science.  _Always_ with the damn science."

 

Her scowl was only half-accusatory, and Kisuke reached out to tuck a lock of raven hair behind her ear, leaning in.  "Not _always_."

 

Yoruichi met his lips in a brief peck, scooting closer on the futon to climb onto his lap and nuzzle his neck.  "So when you say you're going…"

 

Kisuke wrapped his arms around her and allowed himself a moment to bury his nose in her hair, the ever-present scent of jasmine filling him up like drink.  "I have some time," he said, pulling away gently before she could give him an ironclad reason to stick around.  "But your brother is waiting right outside."

 

The piece of information put an immediate end to any further amorous activities, Yoruichi growing rigid in his embrace.  At the sound of his soft chuckle her reiatsu spiked, white-hot, and she glared at him, albeit only half-heartedly.   

 

"Hey, it was _your_ idea to invite him to stay."

 

With a huff, Yoruichi scrambled off of him and declared that she needed five extra minutes of sleeping in before enduring what she called a 'full dose of Yūshirō.'  Kisuke chose to phrase it a little differently once he exited the room, coming face-to-face with the eager-looking brother in question.  Though he had expected he might need to make another trip upstairs shortly, Yoruichi stayed true to her word and made her way down to the living room a few minutes later, clad in a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt, looking as though it had taken every ounce of strength she had to do even this much.

 

Despite her nonchalant front, it was plain as day to Kisuke that Yoruichi had exaggerated her claims that she couldn't wait for Yūshirō to return to Soul Society with him today.  The boy was just as much a handful as he had been as a small child, but as Kisuke watched Yoruichi being regaled by his latest victory against Jinta in Mario Kart, he could see the signs of a smile, if not in her stubbornly set lips, then in her eyes.

 

By the time he and Yūshirō were waving goodbye to the rest of them, about to cross the portal in the Training Grounds over to Soul Society, she looked borderline sad to see him go.  Still, he could understand her need to keep up a cool façade for the Shihōin team when her counterpart was openly sniffling beside him.

 

"You're welcome to come visit us again anytime, Yūshirō-san," Kisuke said, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder while they made their way along the dark passage of the Dangai. 

 

Wiping his watery eyes with the back of his hand, Yūshirō nodded.  "Thang you vor havig me over, Kizuke-zan."

 

"It was a pleasure.  You packed the phone I prepped for you?"

 

Yūshirō nodded again.

 

"Good.  I have all our numbers saved in there.  Plus all the pictures we took."

 

This seemed to cheer up the boy at once, his eyes now tearing up for entirely different reasons.  "Really?  Thaz gread, thang you!"  With a loud, pig-like sound, he inhaled, composing himself.  "I'm going to show mother when I'm home," he said, his voice significantly clearer but still a little thick with emotion.  "She's never been in the human world!"

 

Knowing there were at _least_ ten pictures of himself clad in Hawaiian shirts of increasing garishness in there, Kisuke shuddered to think of Lady Shihōin Hana's reaction upon seeing said photos.  Then again, it wasn't as though she could hate him any more than she already did.  And speaking of Yūshirō's mother…

 

"I… have been remiss in making arrangements for your return home, Yūshirō-san," Kisuke said, realizing with a sinking feeling that he might have to come face-to-face with Lord and Lady Shihōin today.  "I apologize.  But I can drop you off at the estate if you wish.  Have your parents been notified—?"

 

"Oh, that's okay!  Nee-sama contacted father and he said he was sending my guard to pick me up," Yūshirō said. 

 

As they stepped out of the darkness and through the portal, Kisuke blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright, mid-day light.  When his sight returned, he saw Yūshirō's guard was already waiting for them on the other side, a small squadron of Shihōin guards bearing the familiar, maple leaf crest on their purple uniforms.  Flanking a gleaming, rich brown carriage, they stood at attention, accompanied by two black-clad Onmitsukidō men who approached them first, falling into a deep bow in greeting.

 

Straightening up the strap of his duffel bag, Yūshirō turned to Kisuke with a broad, yet somewhat melancholy smile.  "Are you heading over to the SRDI?  For your… project?"

 

Kisuke gave him a nod, his smile turning reassuring when he saw the boy's face falling again.  "Don't worry, Yūshirō-san.  We have a full team working on this—"

 

"Oh, I'm not worried," Yūshirō said, brightening up at once.  "I know you'll figure it out.  Father agrees, too," he hurried to add, as though that settled the matter.  "He's been saying so since June and he's always right."

 

"Your… your Lord father?"

 

"Mm-hmm.  He's not worried, either."

 

Mouth growing slack, Kisuke stared at Yūshirō in near-disbelief.  The notion that he had been openly discussed in the Shihōin household, under a positive light, no less, was the last thing he'd expected to hear.  "Well, I… I appreciate the vote of confidence." 

 

With a bright smile, Yūshirō sped away toward his guard, leaping onto the carriage with a graceful jump.  Kisuke waited until the carriage bearing a waving Yūshirō disappeared around the corner of the road leading out of the Senkaimon grounds, then set off toward the SRDI, his head full with Yūshirō's parting words.

 

He didn't have time to dwell on them for long, however, as he was in for a rather rude awakening upon reaching the SRDI and being presented with the literal _mountain_ of material he would need to study meticulously over the next few weeks.  On the bright side, the new containment chamber construction was well under way.  Having witnessed the effectiveness of Aizen's containment device first-hand, Kisuke had known Kurotsuchi would be ideal for the job, and he hadn't been let down: Kurotsuchi's team had been working meticulously, and the Captain himself had also contributed a fair number of improvements upon the original design.

 

The diligence of Kurotsuchi's team allowed Kisuke the luxury to focus on research alone, a prospect he had been looking forward to, until Lieutenant Ise had contacted him to request that he set aside an 'adequately spacious' room for the imminent delivery of the documents.  When Kisuke had asked her what exactly constituted as spacious, the young woman had taken a worryingly long pause before answering: "A small office will do."

 

Once the First division men had finished unloading box after box of seemingly endless material, Kisuke's eyes were immediately drawn to a small, pink note pinned on one of the boxes.  A message from the Captain Commander, it read: _'Kisuke-kun, Nanao-chan has generously placed her impressive organizational skills at your disposal, should you require them for the duration of your research.  I would suggest you take her up on her offer.'_

 

Still, even with the aid of Lieutenant Ise's indeed highly impressive organizational skills –he'd taken her up on her offer- by the fifth day, Kisuke was well and truly feeling that for once, he may have dug himself into a hole it was impossible to get out of.

 

It wasn't until Hirako put his foot down and dragged him out of the SRDI, declaring that he would be staying in the Fifth Division barracks for the foreseeable future, that Kisuke managed to get any semblance of a downtime.  Gracious hosts though the Twelfth Division's men and women had been, spending the day surrounded by individuals who shared his conviction that sleep and food were secondary concerns had not been the wisest choice.  Without Yoruichi or Hiyori there to occasionally anchor him back to reality like they had in the past, rooming at the SRDI for the rest of his stay in Soul Society would not be advisable.

 

Hirako had forbidden him from moving any of his material over to the Fifth's barracks, insisting that it defeated the whole purpose of having a place to relax and unwind.  Even Kisuke's phone had been put on quarantine, once he'd been caught scrolling through digitally scanned documents.

 

" _That_ stays with me," Hirako said, holding up the offending device.  His hair was still dripping wet from the bath he'd abandoned in a hurry, once realizing he hadn't been completely thorough in removing all distractions.

 

With a resigned sigh, Kisuke sank back into the pillow by the chabudai, withdrawing his pipe from the sleeve of his borrowed yukata.  "All right, all right… I give up," he said, lighting up and taking in a long drag.

 

Closing his eyes, he let out a soft moan at the pleasant light-headedness that came with having a smoke after a long break.  He hadn't even realized how sore his shoulders had been until he'd been shoved into a bathtub with the explicit orders to relax.  Feeling boneless and malleable like clay –not to mention clean for the first time in days- he was perfectly content to go to sleep right then and there, but Hirako had been adamant that this wasn't happening until he'd had a proper meal first.  Slipping his eyes open again, he watched, through a film of smoke, Hirako take a seat opposite him, buffing his hair dry with a towel.

 

"Sometimes I can't believe ya ever made it to adulthood, the way you carry on," Hirako muttered, sliding a bowl of rice across the chabudai over to him.  "I have newfound respect for Yoruichi, Tessai and Hiyori."

 

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Kisuke set his pipe aside and reached for a pair of chopsticks, taking a bite out of some grilled mackerel before diving into the rice.  "Perhaps I am merely thoughtful," he said, tongue rolling around the salty fish.  "Giving my friends the opportunity to exercise their mollycoddling muscles."

 

Hirako snorted at this, returning Kisuke's grin, then set his towel aside to pour them both some tea.  For a moment, Kisuke wondered why he wasn't joining him for dinner, before realizing it was well past midnight.  As if on cue, Hirako let out a yawn just as he brought his cup to his lips, his eyes drawn to Kisuke's phone, where a picture of Yoruichi's tanned back graced the screen.

 

If he noticed that the back strap of her bikini was lined up with the 'slide to unlock' label on the screen, he made no comment on it.

 

_…I should probably keep the phone out of Yoruichi's sight._

 

He had briefly considered the option of simply changing the picture.  Then dismissed it at once.  It wasn't as though unlocking the phone led to a more revealing pict—

 

_Yeah, no, **that…** might be pushing it. _

 

"How was the vacation?"

 

"Quite lovely," Kisuke said, taking the proffered cup of tea, his lips drawing up in reminiscence.  He had only ever left the confines of Japan once before, and could now understand the appeal traveling held for Yoruichi.  Though not quite sharing her wanderlust, he couldn't deny that exploring a foreign land, witnessing the local customs and trying the cuisine hadn't been a wonderful experience.

 

In fact, he'd been rather surprised that Yoruichi had chosen a destination she had already visited in the past, or that she had yet to take up traveling solo again.  He'd tried not to dwell too long on the latter, wary of setting himself up for disappointment.

 

"Lovely, my ass; I bet yer phone is filled with notes you took while Yoruichi and Tessai weren't lookin'."

 

There was a moment of silence, during which Hirako met his eyes, then followed Kisuke's gaze as it fell upon the phone, then on the proximity of Hirako's hand to said phone.

 

"Don't even _think_ about it," Hirako said, instantly reaching out to grab it, then proceeded to unlock the screen ostentatiously.  He fiddled with the device for a moment, until a broad, triumphant grin broke out on his lips.  "Yup, I knew it: _'consider sparser particle distribution with stronger focus on bonds vs denser; more flexible?'_   Fuckin' _nerd_ ," he said, shaking his head.  "The whole point was for you to rest so you could come back with fresh ideas, ya know?"

 

Kisuke sighed, toying with the chunks of pork and vegetables in his rice bowl.  "I tried.  I did," he said, shrugging.  "Hence the fresh ideas.  Can't really control _when_ they come."

 

"You should've tried _harder_ ," Hirako said, absently swiping at the screen.  After a few seconds, his gaze seemed to snap on something written there.  "Kuchiki, Shihōin, Shiba, Ise and Mori.  Huh, I'd almost forgotten the Mori were even one o' the Big Five.  Don't think I've ever heard the name more than twice or so.  Hell, don't think I've ever _met_ any of 'em, come to think of it."

 

"Mmm, no, you wouldn't have."

 

"Oh?" Hirako said, arching one blond eyebrow.  "Because I ain't nobility like _your_ precious ass?"

 

Kisuke caught the projectile wet towel thrown his way, letting out a gentle scoff.  The notion that his personal biological recipe even qualified as nobility was one of the longest-running, most ridiculous cosmic jokes, an opinion he was certain was shared by many others; his blood relatives first and foremost. 

 

One part organically grown peasant, one part imitation nobility, the kind born out of necessity to avoid scandal a mere four generations ago.  Add a generous pinch of luck and circumstance, shake vigorously, and 'lo behold: Urahara Kisuke, Impostor Noble, Blood of a Commoner Mother, Twice Disgraced and Twice Forgiven Protégé of one Shihōin Ken'ichi, and –according to some- Seducer of Noble Women.

 

That last title in particular might've been rather flattering if there were any truth to it; to this day, he could not speak with any authority as to who had seduced whom to begin with, and more importantly, there had only even been the _one_ noble woman.

 

Granted, she did make for a rather outstanding example.

 

Still, the validity of his noble status aside, there was no denying his upbringing had given him a unique window into the world occupied by the Seireitei's elite, even as a mere outsider looking in.   

 

"No, because they keep to themselves," he told Hirako.  "I've never met a member of the Mori clan, either."

 

Hirako set the phone aside again, sinking down into the pillows to sip his tea lazily.  "So what's the idea here?  You piece the ritual back together from the clan records?"

 

"Yes.  But there are… factors to take into consideration."

 

"Well yeah, otherwise I figured they woulda performed it themselves already."

 

"Oh, they could have… Just not in a way that would be to anyone's satisfaction."

 

A crease appeared on Hirako's brow at the sound of that.  "Whazzat mean?"

 

"Every one of the Five Great Clans holds only a piece of the ritual," Kisuke explained.  This was no secret, at least in his old circles, but Kisuke had never been privy to the specifics until very recently.  "It was meant to be a means to keep any one clan from gaining too much power.  It's one of the reasons why the Shibas are still held in high esteem by the Royal Realm even though they've fallen from grace in Soul Society."

 

"They gotta cooperate to perform the full ritual?"

 

"Precisely."

 

"So… why haven't they?"

 

It was a fair question, one whose answer was not only complicated, but had been the source of Kisuke's continued anguish, the reason he hadn't been able to truly relax or sleep peacefully since June.  "There has been some disagreement over the right candidate.  And—" He took a long pause, considering how to phrase this.  "—Kyōraku-san and I have reached a consensus that the original ritual is… not something we would inflict upon our preferred candidate."

 

"Why not?"

 

It occurred to Kisuke at that moment that Hirako, like most Soul Reapers, knew next to nothing of what passed as common knowledge among high nobility.  Which made answering his questions all the more complicated.

 

Kisuke debated whether this was even worth discussing.  Though he trusted Hirako with his life and knew that the details of his research would become public eventually, he wondered whether it was prudent to weigh down yet another person with the kind of information he currently possessed.  If there was one thing he had always understood with perfect clarity, it was that knowledge was a burden.

 

But Hirako had asked, and Kisuke reasoned that they'd shared enough horrors already that he could have confidence in Hirako to keep a cool head, like he always had.  More than anything, he was desperate to share the load, even momentarily, with someone he considered a dear friend.

 

Lips pursed, Kisuke stared at the dregs of liquid in his cup as he spoke.  "For all the years I was in his employ, ever since I was a child, Shihōin-sama and I… we used to have lengthy discussions about a number of things, including the Royal Realm and the clans."

 

"Shihōin-sama?  You mean Yoruichi's dad?"

 

Kisuke nodded. "You may have heard that the Shihōin are the caretakers of the so-called Hōgu and Bugu, powerful spiritual tools that are said to have been bestowed upon them by the gods.  Shihōin-sama once asked me what I thought of this legend," Kisuke said, unable to stifle a smile at the memory of himself as a young boy, staring at this veritable pillar of Soul Society over the gleaming surface of a shōgi board.  "I told him I thought it was—"

 

"A load a' crap?" Hirako offered with a grin.

 

He laughed heartily at that, recalling that his own thoughts at the time had been almost identical.  "More or less.  Though I did phrase it more politely," Kisuke said, grinning back.  "I told him I thought it was precisely that: a legend, with some basis in fact, like legends are always wont to be.  That turn of phrase, 'bestowed by the gods,' had always sounded to me like an allusion to the Royal Family.  Turns out I was correct."  

 

Setting down his cup, Kisuke rested one elbow on the chabudai, toying with the still damp lock of hair tickling his nose.

 

"The Shihōin started out as a clan of talented armorers, inventors, long before they assumed a more militaristic role," he said.  "Even though he was the first-born, the eldest of four, Yoruichi-san's father abdicated his rightful place as leader of the Onmitsukidō, leaving it up to one of his brothers.  Instead, he took it upon himself to restore the clan's reputation as inventors back to its former glory."

 

Hirako considered this for a moment, soon adopting an expression akin to having worked out a long-held mystery.  "Ohhh, so _that's_ how you and Tessai came to be involved with Yoruichi's clan.  You never told me that; you just said yer mom was councilwoman to old man Shihōin," he said.

 

Neither he nor Hirako had ever been keen to discuss some of their deeper thoughts and fears, or to reveal parts of themselves that were little known, yet Kisuke had always felt that they both understood more from everything that had been left unsaid.  It was the kind of understanding he had only experienced with Yoruichi in the past, and finding it again later in life, from someone who hadn't witnessed his childhood first-hand, no less, had been a very welcome surprise.  

 

"Well, she was a rather gifted Kidō practitioner herself," Kisuke said.  "Shihōin-sama always—"

 

 _Always surrounded himself with the best and brightest._  

 

Whether that meant scouting an Academy prodigy, who would go on to revolutionize the Kidō Corps and assigning him as a tutor for his daughter and student.  Or hiring a brilliant, but chronically ill woman living on borrowed time, as a cover for the intent to mentor her quiet, socially awkward son.  

 

"At any rate…" Kisuke said with a jerk of his head, as though that would serve to shake the memories away.  "We never actually discussed the parts of the Soul King, but I always assumed they, too, were a metaphor.  I assumed they were powerful instruments, like, say, the Sōkyoku.  I never… I didn't expect they would turn out to be…"

 

"Yer talking about Mimihagi-sama," Hirako said.  "That thing Ukitake did back then."

 

Kisuke nodded.  "I had heard of the name, but I'd never imagined— I did not know it was possible for anyone to become a vessel for even a fraction of the Soul King's power."

 

"Well, just goes to show how powerful Ukitake truly was."

 

"Indeed.  Though the candidate for Soul King needs to be a powerful individual in their own right, the ascension ritual compounds that power to dizzying heights," Kisuke said.  "The various parts of the Soul King are meant to be, among other things, emergency reservoirs of power.  In a pinch, they could even temporarily take the Soul King's place.  Every clan heir knows how to perform the stabilization ritual; Yoruichi-san did it herself using Mimihagi-sama as a replacement.  But like I said, it's only temporary until a suitable candidate can be found.  It is the remnants of Mimihagi-sama and Yhwach's reiatsu that are keeping our world from falling apart right now.  So you can see how the idea of several backups is a sound, logical plan."

 

Hirako had no trouble discerning the undercurrent of dejection in his tone.  "Buuuut?"

 

"But… it comes at a cost," Kisuke said, running his thumb over the rim of his teacup.  "In retrospect, I can't believe I never figured it out sooner; it was staring at me right in the face.  I'm surprised it's not commonly known, but then again, not many can say they've actually _seen_ the Soul King."

 

"But _you_ have?"

 

Kisuke looked up to meet Hirako's eye.  His expression told him he was impressed by the revelation, but at the same time not truly shocked, as though he had always suspected it.  "In a manner of speaking," Kisuke said, taking a deep breath to steel himself for what was coming next.  "Very few people know this, but the Soul King has no limbs.  Or a heart."

 

As expected, Hirako needed a moment to fully register this, and even after a long silence, he still appeared to be confused, or perhaps even unwilling to believe what he'd just heard.  "When you say—?"

 

"I am being literal.  The ascension of a candidate to Soul King… involves ritual dismemberment.  The Hand of the Soul King is not just a title, it is quite literally the reiatsu once contained within the severed limb of the Soul King."

 

This time, Hirako's pause lasted even longer.  His earlier drowsiness vanishing on the spot, he stared back at Kisuke with nothing short of horror written in his eyes.  "You're… you're not _serious_ …" When Kisuke said nothing to contradict his earlier words, Hirako went on.  "So… what… first they kill—?"

 

"Oh, no," Kisuke said with a rueful smirk.  Killing the subject first might have made the notion of this ritual marginally more palatable.  Unfortunately, the truth was even more disturbing.  "The subject is very much alive and awake when this happens.  They _have_ to be.  Otherwise… otherwise their blood, their life-force, cannot—" Seeing the horrified expression on Hirako's face, Kisuke decided not to divulge any more.  It served little purpose to go into the technical aspects of the ritual, when the gist alone was nightmare fuel enough.  "I'll… spare you the details, shall I?  But I think you can see… why Kyōraku-san wouldn't want this fate for Ukitake-san.  Or… or anyone else."

 

In an attempt to mask his shaking hand while mental images of Kurosaki and Yoruichi assaulted him once more, Kisuke picked up his cup of lukewarm tea and drained it, desperately hoping Hirako would say something, _anything_ to break the ringing silence.

 

"So… what are you going to do?"

 

Immensely thankful for the chance to steer the conversation to safer, less unsettling pastures, Kisuke took in a deep, bracing breath.  "Well, first I am going to go through the material provided by the clans.  Like I said, each clan holds a small part of the ritual, but that's merely the tip of the iceberg," he said.  "Whoever created the ritual decided that the clans needed to know no more than the absolute bare minimum.  I assume this was another safety measure, making certain the ritual cannot be altered or replicated."

 

"There's information missing?"

 

Kisuke nodded grimly.  Part of him was still unable to stomach the fact that out of mountains upon mountains of records he had only scarcely managed to skim over, there was still so much missing.  "Lots and _lots_ of it… And if I am to redesign the ascension ritual, I need to understand it fully first, then reverse-engineer it, then create something new."

 

"A new ritual.  But without the… dismemberment part."

 

"Yes."

 

"Which, no matter how brutal, is a pretty necessary precaution."

 

"Yes."

 

"While you have only part of the ritual in yer hands and the rest may even be lost forever."

 

"…Yes."

 

"Which needs to be done as quickly as possible 'cause Ukitake-san's body is running low on time."

 

"……Yes."

 

"And I assume even the option of using Ukitake-san is not goin' down well."

 

"………Yes.

 

"And if he _does_ die before you pull this off, our alternative is… what, _Aizen_?"

 

"…………Yes."

 

Glad though he was to hear someone else could now fully appreciate the magnitude of the problem, Kisuke was no more comforted by Hirako's next words.  "Well, hey, _no pressure_ or anythin'."

 

Burying his face in his palms, Kisuke let out a sigh.  "Thank you for captioning this, Hirako-san.  Truly—"

 

"Sorry, sorry!" Hirako said, and even before pulling his hands down, Kisuke could hear the genuine regret in his voice.  "I just… _Shit_ , Kisuke.  I mean… Pretty sure I can't do squat here, but if there's any way I can help…"

 

Oddly enough, Hirako's words were far more comforting and refreshing than any other reaction he'd witnessed thus far.  Everyone else, from Captain Kyōraku to Tessai and Yoruichi had expressed their utter confidence that he would succeed.  Intellectually, he understood that even if they did have their doubts and fears, they believed voicing their faith in his ability to solve this was the best way to motivate him.  Yūshirō's revelation that even his erstwhile mentor was among those who didn't doubt him had been nothing short of heartwarming.

 

And terrifying at the same time.

 

He had spent his entire childhood and a significant part –far greater than he cared to admit- of his adulthood desperately trying to impress Yoruichi's father.  There was no man or woman in Soul Society he respected and looked up to more than Shihōin Ken'ichi, the brilliant, shrewd former head of the Shihōin Clan.  There were few other memories he could summon up and feel worse pain than the one he felt when recalling what it had been like to see the disappointment in his mentor's eyes, the regret, the fury.  

 

_"Due to the folly of your youth, and the immense respect I still hold for your mother, I am going to allow you to walk away.  You are hereby released from your oath."_

_"Sir, **please,** I—"_

_"Never set foot in my abode ever again."_

 

Gathering the shattered pieces of their original bond and forging it once more had been a long and painful process.  He had sworn to himself he would never allow it to happen again, but try as he might, he had disappointed and betrayed Shihōin Ken'ichi's trust a second time, by doing little more than allowing himself to be happy.  Whatever Lord Shihōin's reaction had been, upon discovering his daughter had run away with one of his most dedicated subjects, he seemed to have set it aside after one hundred long years and decided to place his trust in him once more.

 

And betraying it for a _third_ time would be— 

 

Resting one arm atop the chabudai, Kisuke rubbed his sore temple with his free hand, then propped his chin against his fist.  "You can help me convince Hiyori-san to pitch in—"

 

Hirako's face shifted into a grimace that looked an awful lot like offense.  "I know she's a pain, but you _know_ she would help out willingly if—"

 

"—by temporarily moving to Soul Society to help with the research."

 

The latter half of his sentence siphoned any ill feelings out of Hirako's expression at once, rendering him silent for a long while.  "…So I think we mighta been too quick to dismiss Aizen as a valid—"

 

Kisuke chuckled at that.  "Please?"

 

Hirako let out a sigh that sounded a lot more like a growl, running a hand through his wet hair.  "All right, all right… Guess I can take a few beatings if it means savin' the world," he said in a faux long-suffering voice.  His eyes fell on Kisuke's phone again, which he tapped back to life, checking out the time.  "Ohhh, let's call her now."

 

"Whu— _Now_?  It's almost 1 a.m.  Remember, we want to _convince_ her—"

 

"Trust me on this," Hirako said, holding out Kisuke's phone to him.  "She's at her most pliable when she's half asleep.  She'll still rage like no-one's business, but that half-way state between bein' awake and sleepin' is basically the only time she has a soul to speak of." 

 

Letting out a snort, Kisuke reached out to take the phone.  "All right…" he said, with a side-glance at Hirako while he tapped in Hiyori's number.  "Pliable, is it?"

 

Scowling, Hirako drove his heel, _hard_ , on Kisuke's thigh.  "Shaddap.  And put it on speaker phone," he said, sitting up and looking positively giddy at the prospect of ruining Hiyori's night.

 

Kisuke finished making the call, then placed the phone on the table between them, waiting.  Both of them stood in silence, listening to the ringing tone.  It was beginning to look as though they would get no answer, until there was a muted thud on the other end of the line, then a loud shuffling.

 

"SOMEUN BETTUR BE FUCKIN' _DYIN'—_ "

 

Sniggering, Hirako bounced on his seat.  "S'up, brat?"

 

Hiyori's mounting expletives were cut off at once, and she was silent for a few seconds.  "The fu—?  _Shinji_?  I thought it wuz that baldy Kis'ke callin'—"

 

Deciding to make his presence known, Kisuke piped in.  "Good evening, Hiyori-san!"

 

Once more, Hiyori fell quiet.  "You shitlords have me on speaker?  'Kay, _BYE NOW_ —"

 

"Don't hang up!" Hirako hurried to say.  "Geeez, takin' ya outta speakerphone…" Pressing his index finger against his lips at Kisuke, he picked up the phone.

 

" _Pliable_?" Kisuke mouthed at him.

 

Hirako flipped him off, then held the phone close to him.  "There, it's off."

 

A loud, unrestrained yawn came from the other end.  "W-Whaddya want, then?"

 

"It's not _me_ who wants something, it's Kisuke."

 

"Yeah, so what _else_ is new?"

 

Hirako laughed, eliciting a mock-scandalized reaction out of Kisuke.  "He asked me to please, please, _pleaaaase_ inquire if ya'd be so kind as to join us."

 

"Join you?  Join you in what?"

 

"Moving here.  Temporarily.  Just until—"

 

"REALLY HANGIN' UP THIS TIME—"

 

"See, I _told_ him it wasn't happening," Hirako said, checking out his fingernails, completely unperturbed by Hiyori's reaction.

 

"Then why d'ya call in the middle of the night, baldy?  Ya figured ya might as well screw with my sleep just fer kicks?"

 

"Sorry about that; it's just I promised I'd try anyway just ta humor him," Hirako said.  "Though I gotta say, yer missin' out on the visuals."

 

"…Meanin'?"

 

"You know how he gets when he ain't sleepin' good; I had ta force him into a bath for my sake, but he's still sportin' The Hunch."

 

"Shit, are we talkin' level Four Hunch—?"

 

"Try level _Five_."

 

This time around, Kisuke didn't have to feign disbelief.  _The Hunch_?  There were _stages_?  He tried to communicate all of this wordlessly to Hirako, but the latter just dismissed him with a smirk, lying back on the pillows and crossing his legs.

 

"And Yoruichi ain't here to take the edge off," he went on.  "So he's just this miserable lil' ball a' nerves and coffee, all skin an' bones, limp hair –well… limp _er_ \- black circles under his eyes…"

 

Though he could see what Hirako was getting at and was duly impressed with the way he was handling Hiyori, Kisuke wished he would stop describing him.  So accurately at that.

 

"I snapped a pic earlier, wanna see?"

 

" _Duh_."

 

Before Kisuke even had time to voice his displeasure, Hirako was motioning at him to look away while he held the phone up, poised to take a picture.  Shaking his head, Kisuke folded his arms before his chest and stared ahead, a deep scowl etched on his face. 

 

There was the tell-tale snap, serenaded by Hirako's throaty chuckle.  He fiddled with the phone for a second, then held it up beneath his lips again, just as Hiyori's howling laughter filled the room. 

 

"See?  When I say he needs ya, I mean it," Hirako said.  "C'moooon, it's just research crap.  You've done it a million times before.  And ya won't be alone, Yoruichi is comin' ta help in a coupla weeks, too.  Won't be for long, and you can get some pretty choice future blackmail material out of it."

 

There was a long pause, during which Kisuke knew from experience that Hirako had been successful.  "Tch, _fine_."

 

With a cackle, Hirako sat up once again, grinning broadly.  "Ya won't regret it, promise," he said, both his expression and his tone softening significantly.  "See ya in a few days then?"

 

"Hnghhh, I _guess_.  Might as well bring the others, too— Oh _hey_ , speakin' a' which… Kyōraku sent Lisa and Hacchi these weird-ass, cryptic invitations, sayin' somethin' about wantin' ta speak ta them in private," Hiyori said.  "Are you and Kyōraku in cahoots, plannin' somethin'—?"

 

"I swear this is the first I'm hearin' of this.  But I can ask around, if ya want," Hirako said, and the gentle frown on his face betrayed he was telling the truth.

 

Hiyori seemed to have reached the same conclusion by virtue of his tone alone.  "Yeah, okay, do that.  I'll see ya in a few days."

 

"'Night," Hirako said, waiting until Hiyori had hung up to set the phone aside.

 

Kisuke met his eye at once, his glare only half-serious.  "A _Level Five Hunch_?"

 

Hirako grinned.  "Yeah, like so," he said, dropping his shoulders and falling into a deep hunch in a clear imitation of his current pose.

 

Kisuke glanced at himself and straightened up at once, blushing.

 

"Eat yer dinner, Kisuke," Hirako said with a snort, refilling their cups with warm tea.  "And then it's lights out fer sleepy time, ya hear?"

 

Not for the first time, Kisuke privately agreed with Hirako's assessment that he may not have made it into adulthood if it weren't for his meddlesome, overbearing, at times frustrating family.

 

Deep within his chest, the resolve to live up to their hopes and expectations hardened into a talisman he would bear over his heart for the coming months. 

 

* * *

 

 

**AUGUST 10 TH, 2003 A.D., OFFICIAL SENKAIMON GATE, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

"Do you need a moment?"

 

"I— Yes, thank you, Yoruichi-dono."

 

Though she did her best to remain discreet, Yoruichi couldn't help but steal a glance at Tessai's direction as he stood before the portal, taking in the sight.  Both she and Kisuke had had multiple chances to return to Soul Society, but for Tessai, this would be his first foray after more than a century of absence.  She imagined finding Soul Society in this state to boot, when he hadn't witnessed the destruction first hand, was going to take a little getting used to.

 

Idly, she wondered if Kisuke had taken pause as well back on April, much like Tessai was doing right now, his eyes inscrutable and his lips pursed into a thin line.  In retrospect, she realized she had been too preoccupied with the need to stay incognito to appreciate her own return nearly two years ago.

 

Even without the stigma of a traitor weighing down her shoulders, the past seemed to hang like an ever-present, invisible veil between every single one of her interactions with Soul Society's residents.  Never one to hold grudges, she bore no ill feeling toward anyone, and yet she felt this distinct Otherness, this persistent feeling that she no longer belonged in this world.  More than once, she'd wondered how Hirako, Rose and Kensei were handling their reinstatement and reintegration into Soul Society after a century in the mortal world.

 

Nowhere else was this feeling more pervasive than it was in the company of her parents. 

 

The best she could claim was that they had reached a mutual understanding to never bring up the past again, their interactions remaining on the cooler side of the spectrum.  Then again, their relationship had always been a strained one.  Limiting her interactions with them to what was absolutely necessary had been the game plan ever since she had first visited to train Yūshirō.  And she wasn't the only one who had chosen to operate thus.

 

Whether due to age, social status or the mere fact that he was a brilliant man, her father was uniquely qualified to aid in the search for answers regarding the Soul King's ascension ritual.  He should've been the first person Kisuke had called upon for both advice and information, yet Yoruichi knew he was going to avoid a meeting until he was well and truly out of other options.  Perhaps thinking she would've called him out on it, he hadn't even tried to persuade her to visit in his stead when laying out the game plan for the following weeks. 

 

Instead, upon returning to Karakura, he had asked her to start by looking into the one area that promised the biggest chance of success: the origins of Mimihagi-sama.   

 

"I am ready now; shall we?"  Tessai said.

 

With a nod, Yoruichi led the way from the portal at a leisurely pace, allowing Tessai the chance to take in the scenery to his heart's content.  "So what exactly does Kyōraku expect you to do?" she asked.  The letter Tessai had received a few days ago had contained no clarification for the reason he was being asked to visit.  Knowing Kisuke, Yoruichi had a feeling he had a fairly good idea of what the invitation was all about, but had had no time to discuss it at length.        

 

"Well, one assumes that in the wake of Captain Unohana's untimely demise, there is a scarcity of higher level Kidō practitioners in the Seireitei," Tessai said, folding his hands behind his back.  "It would also explain the invitations sent to Hacchi-dono and Lisa-dono."

 

"I get Hacchi, but I had no idea Lisa was particularly skilled in Kidō?" Yoruichi said.

 

"Oh, indeed," Tessai said with a nod.  "She made the top ten in our shortlists upon graduating from the Academy."  For a second there, he seemed to have realized the implications of his usage of the word 'our' but didn't linger on it.  "As of this moment, and if Tenchō's estimation is accurate, Lieutenant Ise is the highest-level Kidō practitioner in the Gotei, closely followed by Captain Kurotsuchi, and of course Lieutenant Kotetsu.  With the former two heavily involved in Tenchō's research, and with so many injured, I imagine the Gotei Relief Station must be terribly short-staffed."

 

"Right," Yoruichi said, her eyes on Tessai.  "Lots of empty seats now.  In the Gotei roster."

 

Tessai met her gaze, his shrewd brown eyes glinting behind his glasses.  "Indeed."    

 

Bidding Tessai goodbye at the gates of the Relief Station, Yoruichi made for the SRDI, all the way the now familiar path to the Reinō Spiritual Ability Research Facility.  In the weeks since she'd last been there, the scenery had changed dramatically: the facility's open testing area had been expanded to take up even more open space, the whopping majority of the lab techs busying themselves around a massive, green-colored Kidō barrier; the new containment chamber.

 

On the far right side, Akon was overseeing operations, leaning against a desk, a mug in one hand.  Maneuvering her way around the constantly whizzing technicians, Yoruichi approached him, waving when he turned to her.

 

"Morning," she said.

 

"Ah, Yoruichi-san," Akon said, setting his mug down and nodding at her.  "Good morning; you're right on time."

 

"All dressed up and ready to go," she said with a smirk, indicating her russet cargo pants and khaki tank top.

 

A slight flush creeping up on his cheeks, Akon cleared his throat loudly and pretended to busy himself with a pile of documents scattered on the desk.  "Right, right.  Then I suppose we'll just—"

 

"Can you _believe_ this damn place?"

 

Yoruichi looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, only to find an angry-looking Hiyori marching toward them.

 

"It looks _nothin'_ like it used to," she spat at Akon, in a tone that suggested the renovations were his fault entirely.  Turning to Yoruichi next before Akon had a chance to defend himself, she crossed her arms, giving her the one over.  "Hmm."

 

"Hello yourself, Hiyori," Yoruichi drawled.

  

Narrowing her eyes, Hiyori zeroed in on Yoruichi's chest.  "Fer fuck's sake, are they even _bigger_ now?"

 

"Are they?" Yoruichi said, glancing down at her décolletage and running a delicate hand over it.  "I hadn't noticed."

 

"If… if we might…" Akon interjected, gesturing vaguely toward the chamber construction area.

 

"Yeah, yeah, let's get this shitshow over with."

 

Akon led them to the north end of the construction area and over to a small, isolated space where the entire wall had been outfitted with cabinets.  Unlocking one at the very bottom row, he withdrew a set of equipment that Yoruichi recognized as sensors.  To the untrained eye, they might've looked like overgrown calculators, but she'd seen similar tech often enough in Kisuke's lab and his study back home.  That said, she had no idea how to operate them and assumed Akon was well-aware of this, as he handed the equipment over to Hiyori without missing a beat.

 

"I would suggest starting out with—" he began, but Hiyori cut him off.

 

"I know the drill, Horn Head, this ain't my first rodeo," Hiyori said, examining the sensors on either hand.  "Question is: will they even pick up any traces?  Hasn't it been more than two thousand years since there's been anythin' in that temple?"

 

"They've been calibrated to maximum sensitivity," Akon said.  "You won't be able to collect any useable samples, true enough, but they _should_ indicate past presence with accuracy." 

 

"All right," Hiyori said, stowing the equipment into the bag that was slung over her shoulder, adjusting the strap across her white t-shirt.  "You forgot one of those color-coded chart thingies.  Or are ya not using them anymore?" she said, slipping her hands into her jean pockets.

 

"Hmm, so I did.  I'll be right back."

 

Yoruichi watched Akon rush over to one of the back rooms, her eyes straying back to Hiyori.  Though she'd gathered as much from their latest team up when collecting the energy from the rifts, she was once again impressed to see that Hiyori really did know her way around a lab and technical equipment, just as Kisuke had reassured her she did.

 

Leaning back against the wall, Yoruichi let out a big yawn, eager to get going.  The longer she stayed put, the more the prospect of traipsing around the Rukongai for an indeterminate amount of time made her wish she could crawl back into bed.

 

"Lisa told me to ask why you've been ' _hidin' such a hot friend_.'  _Her_ words, not mine," Hiyori said while they waited for Akon to return, her eyes travelling lazily over the construction site.

 

Yoruichi let out a chuckle.  "You guys settling in all right over at Kūkaku's?"

 

"Some of us _better_ than others, apparently," Hiyori said.  "But yeah, she's cool.  Thanks for hookin' us up an' all."  

 

"No problem," Yoruichi said.  "Though I'm surprised you didn't take Hirako up on his offer."

 

If Hiyori spotted the taunting inflection in her tone, she didn't show it.  "Hacchi's there already," she said, shrugging.  "Didn't wanna crowd that baldy's place, he's already had ta play host to yer boyfriend for weeks."

 

Any further discussion on their temporary living arrangements was suspended, however, as a harried-looking technician came into their field of vision, trailing right behind Zaraki Kenpachi and giving off the impression that he was about to burst into tears at any given moment.  Yoruichi assumed Zaraki had been brought in to test the containment chamber throughout various stages, currently being the person with the largest reiatsu pool in the entirety of Soul Society.

 

"If you could _just_ —"

 

Zaraki didn't allow him to get more than a few words out before whipping around, causing the young boy to visibly shrink down in terror.  "I've had pasty-ass lil' pansies poking and prodding me since _dawn_.  I'm done."

 

"Right, of course.  I understand.  But—"

 

Riding on Zaraki's shoulder, his former pink-haired Lieutenant let out a high-pitched groan.  "Ken-chaaaaaaan, c'moooon, I'm _bored_."

 

"Do you see me burstin' at the seams to stay?" he barked at her.  "We're _going_."

 

"I understand your frustration," said the technician, and Yoruichi had to admire his backbone for not running away.  "But as I've tried to explain, we would be seeing better results if you could make use of your _entire_ reiatsu pool."

 

Zaraki glared at him.

 

"Mean—meaning… if you could… perhaps… dismiss your…" the boy gestured toward Yachiru without looking at her, his terror-filled eyes locked upon Zaraki's as though he were incapable of looking away.

 

Zaraki continued glaring at him.

 

"It… it would give us a better estimate… of the, er… potential…"

 

Yoruichi decided to intervene before operations in the lab had to be suspended for the boy's funeral proceedings.  "Good grief, man, he's got more than enough reiatsu to spare," she said. 

 

"B-but… Captain Kurotsuchi said—"

 

"Captain Kurotsuchi has a reiatsu amplification device, does he not?" Yoruichi said.  "Use it and then adjust your calculations accordingly."

 

After a cursory glance at her direction, Zaraki turned back to the boy.  "I'd listen to her if I were you; she sounds smarter than the rest of you shitbreaths put together."

 

"And tell Juggalo-kun he's a big, fat, stinkin' meanie for makin' Ken-chan do all his work for him," Yachiru piped in.

 

"If…if you mean Captain Kurotsuchi—"

 

"Kid… let it go," Yoruichi said.  "Unless you want her to tell your Captain you knew _exactly_ who she meant by 'Juggalo-kun.' "

 

The boy's eyes glazed over for a moment, possibly imagining his Captain's reaction in such a scenario, then he visibly deflated.  "V-very well… I'll go prep— Could I… could I trouble you for five more minutes of your time, Captain Zaraki?"

 

"Tch, fine, just get _on_ with it, already!"

 

Yoruichi didn't think it was physically possible, but the boy shrank back even more at the command and sped away at once, presumably to prepare the reiatsu amplification device.

 

"Nice," Hiyori said with a snort.

 

"Yeah, I _wonder_ where I might've gotten the idea for _that_ ," she said pointedly, arching an eyebrow at Hiyori.

 

Forehead breaking out in sweat, Hiyori hurried to say, "Kisuke knew who I was talking about immediately!" clearly hoping to redirect her ire to him instead for the incident in which she'd been referred to as an 'Old Cat Hag.'

 

"Ohhh, is Hatchin here?" Yachiru said, standing up on Zaraki's shoulders and draping herself over his head.  "He promised me 'spacy' candy if I stopped stealing his hat."

 

Yoruichi assumed she meant Space Candy, the misleadingly named, cola-flavored kind they sold at the store. "I'm afraid not," she said with a grin. "He's in Karakura for now, but he'll be back.  I'll let him know you're waiting on the candy.  Whenever I see him again."

 

She couldn't help the slight note of bitterness in her voice as she spoke those last words.  This whole back and forth deal was already starting to weigh on them all, but with the kids back in Karakura, someone always needed to stay behind.  Though they hid it well, Jinta and Ururu were those least pleased with the arrangement, but they seemed to understand the need for it.  After having spent so many weeks in their company, enjoying their break from school and lazing about playing video games most of the day, Yoruichi was surprised to find that she, too, was already missing them.

 

Knowing nothing of this, Yachiru didn't pick up on the shift in her tone.  Scrunching up her nose in disappointment, she went on to ask, "Did he get an eyepatch like Ken-chan's yet?  The glass eye was cool and all, but eyepatches are waaaay better; I told him."

 

"Not _exactly_ like Ken-chan's," she said with a grin.  Zaraki didn't seem to appreciate being called thus by _her_ , but he said nothing.  "But he did, yes." 

 

Yoruichi had to admit she agreed with her; in typical Kisuke fashion, he had gone a little overboard in creating a _number_ of state-of-the-art novelty glass eyes to be used for work –"And _fun_!"- but she was partial to the eyepatch as well.  Urahara Shop logo and all. 

 

Akon returned soon after with their missing equipment, and the two women left the SRDI, making their way to the White Gate of the Seireitei Wall for one last stop, to meet up with their guide for this mission. 

 

Despite her long absence from Soul Society, Yoruichi could recall with near-perfect clarity every single one of her past forays into the Rukongai.  From the days she would sneak out of the Shihōin estate with Kisuke as adolescents, to the braver explorations during their Academy years and beyond, they had prided themselves on having visited every single one of the three hundred and twenty districts at least once. 

 

The first time she had ever found herself outside the confines of the Seireitei, the culture shock had been greater than she could have imagined, even when comparing the outer districts to her own home.  Kisuke, having visited the Rukongai in the past with his mother, had hesitated to go into details when she'd asked what the outer rims were like.  Even as adults, they had chosen not to prolong their stays in the districts farthest from the center, the pervasive hopelessness and despair permeating the air like a disease. 

 

It never ceased to amaze her, how some members of the Gotei had managed to not only survive, but persevere through such upbringing to eventually find themselves in the Seireitei.  And today, if they hoped to navigate the treacherous waters of interacting with the residents of the Sakahone District, they needed someone who was intimately familiar with life in the outer rim. 

 

Abarai Renji was waiting for them by the gate, and following swift introductions, they set off toward the eastern provinces.

 

While traveling under the thick canopy of the forest leading out of the first ring, Hiyori began to make conversation with Renji.  When asked about his childhood home and whether it had been Sakahone itself, Renji shook his head.  "No, I'm from Inuzuri," he said.  "Seventy Eighth district, down south.  I asked around, but aside from Captain Ukitake's family, there are no other Seireitei residents or Gotei members who ever lived in Sakahone." 

 

Though it had never been discussed, Yoruichi had no doubts it was universally agreed that making a request of the Ukitake family for details on their past life in the Rukongai would be indelicate, at the very least.

 

"I can't imagine it'll be too different, though," Renji went on, his voice colored with a note of grimness.  "Anyway, I guess we'll see when we—"

 

" _BOOOOOOOBIEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!_ "

 

All three of them stopping in their tracks at once, they turned around in unison to find Zaraki with Yachiru still on his shoulders, making a dash straight for them.

 

"Boobies?" Renji mouthed.

 

"I _told_ you they look bigge—"

 

Ignoring Hiyori, Yoruichi addressed Yachiru directly the second they were within speaking distance.  "Did we forget something back at—?"

 

"Nah, we just heard Horn-chan talking about you guys going to the Rukongai and we wanted to come along!" Yachiru said.

 

"Er… We… Captain Zaraki?" Renji mumbled.

 

" _She_ wanted to come.  I didn't care either way."

 

"Ken-chan, don't _lie_ ," Yachiru scolded him, then leaned over his head to say in an overly loud, conspiratorial whisper.  "He's avoiding Pachinko Head and Yun-yun; they keep trying to make him sign things."

 

"I'm not avoiding _anyone_ ," Zaraki growled.  "I'm doing _you_ a favor so you'll shut up about it already."

 

"They're from the outer districts, too, right?" Hiyori said, turning to Yoruichi.  "Zaraki and Kusajishi?  Can't hurt to have them along."

 

Yoruichi privately thought that with Zaraki by their side, they had far smaller chances of putting the locals at ease and getting them to talk without feeling placed under duress, but she had an inkling Yachiru was not going to let a dismissal stop her from following them.  And something told her that keeping Yachiru happy was key in making certain Zaraki would fall in line, as much as such a thing were possible.  "I agree," she said.  "You're welcome to join us."

 

Looking as though she expected no different answer, Yachiru shifted her attention over to Hiyori, regarding her the way a puppy might observe something confusing.  "You're Kappa-kun's friend, arentcha?"

 

Hiyori let out a snort.  "Ya mean that baldy Shinji?  Yeah, I'm Sarugaki Hiyori.  _Kappa-kun_ … Good one."

 

Yachiru appeared to be mulling something over, her lips moving soundlessly in repetitions of Hiyori's name –or rather mangled interpretations of it- until she settled on a version she was pleased with.  "Saru… Saruchin."

 

It was Yoruichi's turn to laugh at the nickname, prompting Hiyori to mutter that it was a damn sight better than 'Boobies.'  Wordlessly, both of them turned to Renji in concert.

 

"Don't ask—" he said, shaking his head, but it was too late.

 

"Okie, Pineapple, lead the way!"

 

With as much dignity as he could summon, Renji did indeed lead the way toward Sakahone. 

 

Just as she remembered from her past travels, the shift from the lively first few districts grew exponentially worse the farthest they traveled from the core.  Modest, but clean and decidedly well-cared for buildings gave way to shacks, and colorful yukata were replaced with rags upon the shoulders of the few residents who dared roam the streets openly.   

 

Sakahone, as Renji had predicted, was no different than Inuzuri, though it lacked the abject terror that permeated the very earth in the district the current Kenpachi had named himself after.  The greatest horror in Sakahone seemed to be starvation, and Yoruichi did her utmost to keep her eyes from straying toward the sunken cheeks on children's faces, or the skeletal strays that sat curled up by the side of the dirt road, sniffing the occasional passerby hopefully or quenching their thirst in diseased-looking ponds.

 

Yoruichi could only assume this was Hiyori's first visit to one of the outer districts; her eyes flitted from place to place as though she had no idea where to look, her vision assaulted from all directions with images that Yoruichi knew would plague her nightmares for months to come.  In stark contrast, Yachiru and Zaraki ambled through the streets casually, unaffected by the suffering of their surroundings.  Perhaps the sight paled in comparison to the horrors that lay in their own past.  

 

Renji, on the other hand, drank in every morsel of the experience with an expression of utter resolve.  Lips pursed in a thin line, he refused to look away from any of it, as though he were determined to commit the scenery to memory, note down every single detail.  His fists, Yoruichi noticed, were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

 

She was certain he was too absorbed in memories, or otherwise found the sight too upsetting to say or do much at the moment, but Renji surprised her by taking the initiative and approaching the locals himself.  It took some coaxing and a few tries for passersby to do more than stare at the black-clad Gotei officer with anything other than fear of mistrust, but eventually, he managed to get directions to the Mimihagi shrine.

 

"A word of advice," he said as they followed the path leading to the outskirts of the district.  "I've met my share of priests in the outer districts.  They're used to getting their way.  We have a better chance of getting anything out of them if we're… deferential."

 

"Deferential, my ass," said Zaraki.  "They all talk a big game till they're one inch away from the tip of a sword.  By then they all wet their pants just the same."

 

"The problem isn't intimidating them, Captain," Renji said.  "It's getting through their barriers.  Most of them are very skilled casters.  And their spellwork doesn't follow the same rules our Kidō does."

 

Zaraki arched an eyebrow at that.  "Meaning?"

 

"Meaning it was developed independently from Kidō," Yoruichi said.  "Countering any spell requires a fundamental understanding of how it's structured."

 

"Bingo," Renji said, nodding.  "And you can bet whatever secrets are hidden in those shrines are locked behind strong barriers of their own making.  We have no choice but to get them to trust us.  Which… they're not inclined to do to begin with."

 

Yoruichi had always had the nagging feeling that Soul Society would one day come to regret their apathy toward the Rukongai.  Denied many of the privileges enjoyed behind the tall walls that separated them from the Seireitei, the Rukongai citizens had built their own world with different rules, different gods, and as it turned out, using powers the Seireitei had dismissed as inconsequential. 

 

Whoever had first conceived of hiding the parts of the Soul King within the rapidly changing and developing world of the Rukongai had displayed tremendous foresight.  It was a wonder the Quincy had ever managed to do away with two of the five parts in the first place.

 

"Speaking of trust," Hiyori drawled.  "Dontcha think it might be a good idea to be less… conspicuous?"

 

"In what way?" Renji asked.

 

Their group came to a halt, all five pairs of eyes taking in the sight they made.  Yoruichi's eyes grazed over the two men, both over six feet tall, openly carrying weapons, and in Zaraki's case, wearing a Captain's haori, an eyepatch, and a sour expression that just screamed of an ill disposition.

 

"…Maybe we shouldn't all go in at once," Yoruichi said, mentally cursing herself for not having considered this sooner.

 

"But I wanted to see the shriiiiine—"

 

"Fine with me, we're sittin' this one out," Zaraki said at once, and Yoruichi breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Renji's Shihakushō was going to be a problem; Soul Reaper uniforms were recognizable in all corners of Soul Society, and in some, they were seen as the herald of trouble.  Even if they'd had the foresight to bring a cloak, it would've only served to make him stand out even more in the sweltering August heat.  In the end, once the Lieutenant badge was stowed away and his zanpakutō concealed, the overall image was considerably less intimidating.

 

"Hmmm, one last touch," Yoruichi said, beckoning Renji forward and yanking off his hairtie.  He let out a yelp in protest, but didn't fight her ministrations as she gathered his hair into a low ponytail at his nape, a decidedly less flashy hairdo.

 

"Think that's about the best we can do," Hiyori said, and the three of them left Yachiru and Kenpachi out into the clearing while they followed the way straight ahead.

 

Deep in the heart of the forest, the Mimihagi Shrine was located at the very top of what Yoruichi originally assumed was a mild slope.  Upon closer inspection, it became evident the ancient path was so well-trodden, that what was once a long stairway had devolved into a series of brief, escalating inclines rendered smooth by wear and the passage of time.

 

Each individual step stood out amongst the conifers, slate grey and polished like a beach pebble, tucked in between long swaths of green.  A tall torii greeted visitors at the bottom of the stairway, as perennial as the solid stone lanterns bracketing the way forward.  Draped over the top was a thick bundle of plaited rope, the sacred Shimenawa, decorated with white paper streamers.  The entire forest and man-made fixtures were clad in a thick veil of moss, as though they had sprouted from the earth itself millennia ago, much like their arboreal brethren.

 

The trip forward was treacherous, Hiyori and Renji often coming dangerously close to a slip.  Even Yoruichi's well-honed balance was put to the test once or twice.  A number of parishioners, mostly wizened old men and women often accompanying young children crowded the stairway.  Apparently, the Mimihagi shrine was well-frequented by the locals.

 

"Ugh, _finally_ , solid ground," Hiyori said with an affected shudder as soon as they reached the landing.

 

The shrine itself was larger than she had expected, its architecture starkly different to what she was used to.  A strange marriage of Buddhist and Shinto design, the entire structure stood on a slightly elevated platform, by all appearances identical to most Shinto shrines at the front.  A large, polished wooden sign was fixed on the gable, the name of the shrine written in faded, golden letters.  Across the molding, three long lines of plaited rope were draped over the entrance, ending in three identical bells.

 

The entrance led into a large, enclosed pace that would be more at home in a Buddhist setting, and unless Yoruichi was very much mistaken, this was precisely the place they needed to gain access to.

 

Renji led the way up the small platform, stepping in to the interior.  The second she crossed the border marked by the gabled roof, Yoruichi felt her arms erupt in gooseflesh.  She might've written off the odd, rippling sensation, if it hadn't incited all three of them to share a puzzled look. 

 

_There's something rigged here.  Some sort of barrier._

 

Keeping their thoughts to themselves for the time being, the three of them stepped forward, zig-zagging between the few worshippers, and over to the back of the oratory, where the altar was flanked by two white-clad priests wearing peaked caps.  The soft light of the slowly dripping candles on the altar bathed their faces in shadows that –Yoruichi was willing to bet- gave them a far more foreboding and imperious appearance than normal.

 

"You'll handle this?" she whispered into Renji's ear.

 

The boy nodded firmly, allowing her the luxury of perusing the rest of the oratory at her own pace.  Hiyori similarly hung back while Renji approached the priests, and Yoruichi saw her slipping one hand into her duffel bag discreetly.

 

Unlike typical Shinto shrines, the altar was braced against the back of a wall that separated the entrance from the enclosure she had noticed from the outside.  Her second sign that things weren't all they seemed was the fact that there was nothing barring her entry to the remainder of the shrine.  _At least nothing visible._

 

On either side of the wall lay a corridor leading into the enclosure.  Yoruichi waited for the opportune moment, once the attention of both priests was firmly set upon Renji, then slipped in through the left corridor. 

 

The way forward was dark, the scarce lanterns mounted on the walls providing only enough illumination for a mere few feet ahead, but was seemingly unobstructed.  Yoruichi couldn't tell even in retrospect what brought her into a halt, but after only a few steps she froze in place, instinct bringing her movements to a stop.  Eyes narrowed, she concentrated and reached out, only to encounter something blocking her.   Whatever lay at the end of this corridor was well-protected by a barrier.

 

Pursing her lips, she doubled back, returning to the oratory, and made a beeline for Hiyori.  "We need to go now."

 

"What?" Hiyori whispered back, eyes flitting over to Renji.  "We've barely even—"

 

"I'll explain on the way out," Yoruichi said.

 

From his peripheral vision, Renji saw the two of them exit the shrine, and once he was able to lead the conversation into a natural end, he followed them outside.

 

"What's going on?" he said.  "I'd only just—"

 

"It's no use," Yoruichi told both of them once they were out on the landing.  "Just like you said, there's a barrier separating the entrance from the rest of the structure.  Did you make any headway with the priests?"

 

Renji grimaced, one hand flying up to his nape.  "Ehhh… There's no hiding the fact that we're Soul Reapers, they knew it the second we showed up," he said.  "And they're not exactly in a welcoming mood—"

 

"That's all right," Yoruichi said, launching forth into an explanation of her suspicions.

 

As soon as they had crossed the threshold of the shrine, their spiritual signatures must have been immediately recorded, and added to the barrier guarding the enclosure.  It was the kind of trickery Kisuke would've employed, and thankfully for them, Yoruichi had spent her entire life learning how to counter his brand of trickery with hers.

 

"On the bright side," she said with a smirk.  "I know _exactly_ how we're getting past that barrier."

 

Back in the clearing, Zaraki was sitting under a tree right where they'd left him, engaged in a one-sided conversation about 'Nana' with Yachiru, who was hanging upside down from one of the lower branches.  Upon seeing them approach, she flipped down onto her feet gracefully with a nearly mute thud.  "Do we _have_ to go already?"

 

"Not quite yet," Yoruichi said.  "First we have a mission for you."

 

After explaining the situation and the present obstacle, Yoruichi went on to lay out her plan for them:  Zaraki and Yachiru would act as the diversion, presumably returning to the shrine to cause a scene alongside Renji, while she and Hiyori would use the commotion to head to the back and explore the enclosure.

 

"But you just said you can't go through the barrier," Yachiru said, her face screwed up in confusion.

 

"Not like this, I can't," Yoruichi said.  "But I have a way of altering my spiritual signature just enough to confuse any sensor."  If it had worked on the barrier designed to keep her out of Soul Society, there was little doubt it would work here as well.

 

"How—?"

 

"She can turn into a cat," Hiyori offered in explanation.

 

Renji whipped his head around to stare at her, mouth agape.  "You… you can?"

 

She had no time to answer, however, as Yachiru's sharp gasp commanded their attention.  Hands covering her mouth, eyes wide and glimmering, she looked as though all her dreams had just come true.  "CAN YOU TEACH ME."

 

Yoruichi decided now was not the best time to inform Yachiru this was a unique shikai ability of her zanpakutō.  "I can try.  After."

 

Motivated by the promise of future feline transformation, Yachiru all but dragged Zaraki up the stairway, rendering them all speechless when she jumped from step to step on tiptoes, without her balance faltering once.  The young spirit's enthusiasm was such, that Yoruichi didn't even get the chance to hold her back and go through a few options for the proposed interference, but she needn't have worried.

 

If Zaraki's mere presence wasn't enough of a distraction on its own, when Yachiru employed the waterworks in response to the priests' objections, Yoruichi didn't even have to try to slip away unnoticed.  

 

Hiyori followed suit, trailing behind Yoruichi and coming to a stop when signaled. 

 

"This is it," Yoruichi said, facing the dark corridor once more.  "I don't think it's a good idea to test the barrier.  I have no idea if it'll cause any damage, or even issue a silent alert to the priests."

 

The younger girl nodded, pulling out one of the sensors from her duffel bag and holding it up as close as Yoruichi would allow.  "That's the place," Hiyori said with a grin, checking out the reading on the screen against the chart Akon had provided.  "Timeline checks out.  Last time this area saw any serious spiritual activity was nearly two thousan' years ago.  Go on, do yer thing; I'll be on lookout duty."

 

The possibility of even greater, possibly insurmountable obstacles beyond the barrier was not one she could discount, but for now, even a visual of what lay ahead would be helpful.  Perhaps she would even be able to reach the altar where the former vessel of Mimihagi had once been kept, or at the very least find any writings, anything she could take back to Kisuke to help his research along.

 

Taking a step back from the barrier, Yoruichi prepared herself for the transformation, an action that by now, came to her as easily as breathing… only to find that her body stubbornly refused to change.  Frowning, she closed her eyes and took in a deep, calming breath, emptying her mind of all distractions, much like she had as a young girl, back when activating her feline form hadn't come so naturally.

 

Her bond with Maya, her zanpakutō, was one she had never had to question in the past.  Not once.  Despite her jealousy at the frenetic, dizzying pace at which Kisuke had evolved Benihime, she knew their path had been fraught with heartache and a bond that had been fractured and reforged over and over again.  In contrast, the slower, leisurely journey of Maya's evolution had been smooth the whole way through.

 

For a being that was mute by nature, the large, clever cat that lingered in Yoruichi's inner world had always communicated with her master perfectly, raw instinct and affection shrouding their bond.  And for the first time in centuries, Yoruichi knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was Maya herself who was blocking her transformation.

 

"Yoruichi… hurry up."

 

Swallowing hard, Yoruichi spared a quick glance at Hiyori, who stood at the end of the corridor, overlooking the proceedings in the oratory.

 

Back breaking out in cold sweat, Yoruichi clenched her fists, mentally redirecting the spike of anger and confusion straight at Maya, staking her territory.  The cat didn't give her an inch, and in her mind's eye, Yoruichi could see the bared teeth, could hear the velveteen, warning growl.  Somewhere, beneath the thick, impenetrable layer of defiance, she could also sense something different.

 

Something almost… protective.

 

"Oi!  Yoruichi!" Hiyori hissed at her.

 

"I… I just…"

 

Voice instantly growing softer, Hiyori frowned at her.  "What's wrong?"

 

"I can't—" Yoruichi pursed her lips.  "Give me a minute, I'll think of something else."

 

"There _is_ nothin' else," Hiyori said.  "Unless you can disable that barrier some other way, we're not gettin' through—"

 

"I said I need a minute!" Yoruichi snapped at her, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm hard enough to draw blood.

 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Hiyori fell silent, gaze darting to and from the oratory and the corridor as she watched Yoruichi pacing about, tense like a caged animal.

 

Apparently deciding not to wait any longer, Hiyori waved her arm around toward the oratory, presumably to capture someone's attention, then swiped her flat hand across her neck repeatedly, signaling the abrupt end to their operation.

 

Yoruichi was about to protest, marching up to Hiyori, when everything happened all at once.

 

From the interior, she hear two voices.  First Renji.  "All right, okay, we get it!  Thank you for your time."

 

And then a sigh bleeding into a growl, Zaraki exclaiming, "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake—" just as she reached Hiyori and saw him, as though in slow motion, yank out his eyepatch.

 

Hiyori's reiatsu threads coiled and tightened into a steel spring.  "Oshit."

 

Next thing she knew, Yoruichi had been seized by the front of her shirt, Hiyori yanking her over the railing as Zaraki's reiatsu exploded with the force of an erupting volcano.  Landing on the grass outside, Yoruichi reached out for Hiyori and threw out a shield behind them, splinters of wood and marble raining upon them, a rolling cloud of dust spreading out into the forest.

 

Once their vision had cleared, Yoruichi turned, panting, to take in the devastated landscape.  If anything, she had expected far worse, but it seemed the spells set up by the priests had been powerful enough to protect the main structure…

 

… _Mostly._

 

The roof had been blown apart completely, the enclosure significantly damaged but still standing.  The barrier, however, seemed to have been blown apart, as Zaraki had clearly intended.  When Yoruichi tracked the radius of the destruction back to him, she was relieved to see that Renji had managed to throw up a shield and protect the parishioners.  He seemed to be in utter disbelief of his own spellwork, still on his back, muttering a constant string of barely intelligible words that sounded suspiciously like a 'Thank you' mantra to Rukia and her apparent tutelage.   

 

And in the midst of it all, Zaraki and Yachiru stood completely unscathed. 

 

"Ken-chan, you're so effective!"

 

Still reeling from her failure to follow through with her plan and Maya's inexplicable defiance, Yoruichi hadn't even realized Hiyori had vanished from her side.  She returned only seconds after, straight out of a Flash Step, her arms and bag bulging with waxy-looking scrolls.

 

"C'mon," she hissed at Yoruichi, falling into another Flash Step.

 

Fighting down the oncoming wave of vertigo, Yoruichi scrambled up to her feet and followed suit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The end of another chapter… Not. 
> 
> This is not the actual end. In fact, this is only part one (yes, part one of part one, lol), just about half of the overall chapter. Apologies for the deception, but the reason I split it up thus is because I wanted to make it easier on the reader, as the full update would be massive and incredibly taxing to read in one go. But the two parts are meant to be read together, meaning that certain plot points won't be resolved until you have the full update in your hands. Next part is coming up very soon, I promise (and includes much more nakama!). It just needs to be edited, and the overall update will also include the first outtake, ie the Thailand trip that was referenced in this chapter.
> 
> As mentioned in the opening A/N, I'm a little concerned about your reaction to what I have planned for Ukitake. If the chapter didn't already make it clear, there is no way I'm turning Ukitake into what the canon Soul King was, rest assured. I have always found the notion (and implications) of such an existence chilling, but I do also see the need to maintain the balance of souls. As such, I wanted to show that SS is headed for great changes in a big way from the get go, and this whole deal with Ukitake and the new ritual is meant to be a symbol, a promise and in some ways a guarantee that SS is changing, precisely because of who Ukitake is as a person. That having been said, the glaring issue of Ukitake not actually being able to consent to this is not something I'm going to leave unexplored, you have my promise, and it's the reason why Shunsui is so terribly conflicted and hasn't actually agreed to anything just yet.
> 
> And yes, as you might be able to tell from the sheer length of this chapter, the idea of a technically dead body being used as the Soul King came to me before spoilers for the novel were released. Color me surprised.
> 
> 'Hatchin' 'Saruchin' and 'Juggalo-kun' (i.e. Yachiru's hilarious nicknames for Kisuke, Hiyori and Mayuri respectively), are not my brainchild, but belong entirely to Yachiru's amazing mun in the Bleach Suggestions community on tumblr. And yes, I know Yachiru already has a canon nickname for Mayuri (Mayurin), but C'MON. JUGGALO-KUN. How could I resist?
> 
> Oh, one more note concerning Orihime: this fic is tagged as IchiRuki and IshiHime, so don't worry, I wasn't misleading you, but when it comes to Orihime's feelings for Ichigo, they won't be vanishing in a puff of smoke out of nowhere. My personal ship preferences aside, I've always believed her feelings for Ichigo were very genuine, so both Orihime and you, dear reader, will have to ride it out to its natural end. This won't come into focus much until her personal chapter, but I wanted to let you guys know early on to avoid misunderstandings.
> 
> See you all in the next installment, which should be up in a couple of days tops, and if you have something to say about this one, whether positive or negative, please let me know! CC is always welcome, but I'd prefer that questions/clarifications and the like be directed to my personal tumblr (link in profile).


	3. Equilibrium Pt.I - Asunder (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, as promised, here's part two… of part one xD Sorry it took longer than anticipated, but responsibilities and a flash cold were working against me. 
> 
> I wanted to post the first two outtakes along with this chapter, but I've been horribly stuck and I realized there was no sense in allowing them to hold the main chapter hostage. Just bear in mind that they will be uploaded in a separate fic, and that one of the two will be an exclusive update for AO3. I'm really sorry about this, but the reason I can't upload it to ffnet is due to formatting rules. Because that specific outtake is written in epistolary form, it relies heavily on formatting as a storytelling device, the kind that isn't allowed on ffnet.
> 
> The other one delves a little deeper into Yoruichi's character and offers more insight into the background that is the root of her dilemma in this chapter. But as it detracts from the plot and the chapter focuses on her heavily as it is, I felt it was best suited for an outtake. Sorry I can't upload them together; I'll try to finish it in time for the 14th for, uh… reasons xD
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read!
> 
> 15/02/2016 EDIT: Outtake #1 is up, the order goes: Chapter 2 up to (and including) June 26th > The Ties That Bind > the rest of Chapter 2 > Chapter 3
> 
> 25/02/2016 EDIT: Outtake #2 is also up ('The journal of Kuchiki Byakuya'), and takes place during the nine-year-span of TBTP. Not directly related to TEF like the first outtake, but it covers a couple of scenes that have been referenced in TEF and adds a bit more to the Byakuya & Yoruichi relationship. Also the Byakuya & Kisuke relationship, which I plan on exploring in the future.

 

  **AUGUST 15 TH, 2003 A.D., SHIBA KūKAKU RESIDENCE, RUKONGAI, SOUL SOCIETY **

 

As the damp, cool cloth was pressed against her clammy forehead, Yoruichi swallowed hard, breathing in through her nose, arms wrapped weakly around the wooden bucket.

 

"So… Third time today, was it?"

 

Forking her fingers through her hair, she glared up at Kūkaku only half-heartedly.  " _Don't._ "

 

"Just saying it might be time to face facts, kiddo," Kūkaku said, patting her on the shoulder and stepping out of the washroom, taking the bucket with her.

 

Groaning, Yoruichi pushed herself onto a sitting position on the floor, back pressed against the wall.  A half-empty cup of ginger tea Kūkaku had brewed earlier sat next to her, by now undoubtedly lukewarm.  The concoction had helped, somewhat, but Yoruichi was beginning to suspect even the best home remedy would do little more than merely stall the constant wave of nausea that plagued her day in and day out.

 

Try as she might to deny it for days, Kūkaku was right: it was time to face the music.

 

There had been signs for a while now, but it wasn't until the incident in Sakahone that she'd well and truly began to piece it all together.  Following that debacle at the shrine, she had entered her inner world in a surge of fury, with every intention of demanding answers from her zanpakutō spirit.

 

Instead of finding a taciturn or even guilty-looking Maya, however, Yoruichi had been nearly knocked over by the big cat pouncing on her joyously, not a speck of regret or apology in her.  A curious sensation had been coursing throughout the small body.  Yoruichi was used to bouts of excitement, playfulness, even downright aggression from Maya, but for the first time that day, the cat's reiatsu, warm and jubilant, had held an undercurrent that took Yoruichi by surprise: protectiveness.

 

Maya hadn't allowed the transformation to take place for _her_ sake.

 

Before Yoruichi could even begin to guess as to what she had been protected from, Maya had made herself comfortable against her, affectionately rubbing her muzzle against Yoruichi's belly before she'd drifted off to sleep.

 

A couple of days later, the nausea had come knocking with a vengeance.

 

Yoruichi let out a sigh.  One hundred and eleven years of being careful, and she was being punished for a _sole_ night of frivolity.  In retrospect, she shouldn't have underestimated the lethal combination of a romantic atmosphere and Kisuke's ability to be devastatingly corny.     

 

"Here."

 

Yoruichi looked up.  Kūkaku had returned, now holding a jar containing thin strips of a pink-colored substance submerged in liquid.

 

"If tea isn't working, try this," she said.

 

Yoruichi took the proffered jar and twisted it open, then took a sniff of the contents.  _Pickled ginger._   As Kūkaku took a seat on the floor opposite her, Yoruichi plucked out a piece and nibbled on one corner warily.  The taste wasn't bad; a little stronger than the tea itself, sweeter and spicier, but it wasn't upsetting her stomach thus far, so she began to take a few braver bites.

 

"So…  Had a good time in Thailand, then?"

 

Yoruichi wished she could find it in her to glare at Kūkaku and her smirking face, but all she could do was keep on suckling on the pickled ginger.  "How did you even—?"

 

"Well, you've been distracted ever since you came here, constantly tired, and now this.  Plus the fact that you couldn't transform a few days ago," Kūkaku said.  "I put two and two together; I remember what my mom was like when she was carrying Ganju."

 

Yoruichi didn't ask how Kūkaku knew about the failed transformation.  Hiyori had obviously let it slip, and Yoruichi was now immensely thankful both she and Lisa were out for the day.  Dealing with _one_ witness to this was bad enough, but if she'd had to listen to Hiyori prattle on about her swollen breasts again – _They really **did** get bigger_\- or have Lisa start making up limericks about things that rhymed with Bangkok, she might've gone on the rampage.  

 

Sighing, Yoruichi ran a hand through her hair.  "This is helping, by the way.  Thanks."

 

"Good.  So…?"

 

"…So?"

 

"What, we're just gonna ignore this?" Kūkaku said, letting out a bemused scoff.  "You don't wanna… talk?"

 

Working out and understanding the issue was one thing.  Actually acknowledging it and speaking the words out loud would only serve to give it a kind of finality she was not prepared to face.  And yet she found her frustration at the ridiculous timing of it all frothing and spewing out of her with the inevitability of scorching lava spilling out of a volcano. 

 

"What's there to talk about?" she snapped, the pickled ginger sloshing about in the jar as she threw her arms out in exasperation.  "I've been fucking the _same_ person for one hundred and eleven years, _always_ been careful, even _before_ that—"

 

"Ooookay—"

 

"—then _one_ night, _just the one_ , because we sure as hell couldn't get another moment to ourselves with the kids and Yūshirō hounding me every step of the way –'Neeee-sama come watch our volleyball match', 'Neeeeeeee-sama let's go explore the mountain'- I mean I _asked_ him to come, I know I did, but he can't read the fucking atmosphere, he just _can't_ and we manage to sneak away for a little bit, then Kisuke starts _talking_ and that jerk is just…" Yoruichi came to a halt, out of breath, both unable and unwilling to articulate the power Kisuke's words held over her when their masks were down and he was being no more and no less than his true self.  

 

Turning to Kūkaku, Yoruichi shook her head. 

 

"You have _no_ idea how he can… and it's just… the beach, and the sky and he's being all…" Realizing that she simply didn't have the words to phrase this, she focused on her own feelings at the time, though she still found her eloquence lacking.  "And I'm just _beyond_ horny because with all the crap that's been happening we hadn't had a moment's peace in a _while_ and then it's just… we just…"

 

"You jumped him."

 

Gathering her legs close to her chest, Yoruichi wrapped her arms around them and bumped her forehead against her knees.  "Basically," she said.  "Though it… it might've been a bit later."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Well, we… we went back to the bungalow after," she said, looking up.  "And everyone was asleep, so…" She shrugged.

 

" _Nice_ ," Kūkaku said, grinning.

 

And despite her mounting frustration and all the nameless, confounding feelings that were swimming in her chest at the moment, when she thought back on that night, a surge of warmth and affection cut through the noise in her head and settled over her heart.  "It was," she said quietly.

 

Perhaps sensing the shift in her demeanor, Kūkaku dropped the taunting smirk.  "Does Urahara know yet?"

 

Yoruichi shook her head.  Logic and even her inner spirit itself told her it was all but undeniable by this point, but she wasn't willing to say anything until she'd made certain.

 

"He's probably gonna be happy about it," said Kūkaku.

 

Happy… was an understatement.  Yoruichi felt her empty stomach contract painfully at the mere thought.  "He's gonna be _ecstatic_.  That's the problem."

 

"And… you're not… you don't feel the same?"

 

Yoruichi opened her mouth to speak, but her voice died on her throat as her mind was assaulted with images of bloodstained sheets, of the nameless, heart-wrenching pain in her mother's eyes.  She'd never allowed herself to think about this, believing it would never be a possibility for her.  Rather, that she would never place herself in a position where it might be a possibility.

 

What would be the point, after all?  She had always enjoyed her independence, the luxury to take off at a moment's notice and answer the call of the wanderlust that pulled at her with all its might.  And even though she'd found the power of that siren's call had waned, somewhat, lost its luster as of late, she hadn't felt this was reason enough to upset the balance of the life they'd all built together.

 

"I _was_ considering it," she said after a lengthy pause.

 

Kūkaku said nothing, merely sat up and waited until Yoruichi could find the words to continue.

 

"Not… not _this_ …specifically," Yoruichi said with a grimace, pointing at her still flat belly.  "But… the kids back home… and Yūshirō… and my parents…" Yoruichi let out a deep sigh.  It was only now that she was starting to come to terms with the family she _did_ have, trying to repair the damage of a hundred-year-long absence and the centuries of a strained, difficult relationship that had preceded it.

 

And this complication… might've been less of one if it had happened a few years down the road.  _Or **decades** , even._

 

There was even a time when she had actually considered this, _specifically_ , back when they still lived in Soul Society, when their life was infinitely less complicated, when she would catch herself smiling at the sight of Yūshirō riding on Kisuke's shoulders, of his ever-present smile in response to Suì-Fēng's antics, her chest swelling up with a foreign, all-consuming yearning. 

 

But those days were long past.

 

Taking in a deep breath, Kūkaku pushed herself up to her feet.  "Okay… Just this once, I'm going to get off my ass and do your grunt work," she said.  "You stay here and rest.  When I come back, we can talk more, if you want."

 

"You're going?"

 

"Well _one_ of us should take care of the situation with the Mimihagi priests," she said.  "Might even be better if they deal with someone new—"

 

"Who says I'm not coming?"

 

"Kid, I will _smack_ you if you so much as—"

 

Yoruichi rose up to full height as well, fighting through the wave of light-headedness, ostentatiously munching on a strip of ginger and determined to stay up on her feet.  Somehow, through sheer force of willpower alone, she managed it.

 

Still, Kūkaku was not impressed.  "You know what?  Fine, come along," she said.  "But if you get tired and start complaining, begging for a _nap_ , I'm not even gonna say ' _I told you so_ ,' I'm just gonna ditch your pregnant ass in the woods."

 

Kūkaku's words hadn't been enough to dissuade her as she'd clearly hoped, and before long, they were leaving her Rukongai home on foot, Yoruichi wearing a canteen full of tea strapped across her chest and clutching the jar of pickled ginger, munching on strips non-stop. 

 

Meanwhile, Kūkaku kept shaking her head at her, readjusting the strap of a bag stuffed with all the scrolls Hiyori had pilfered from the shrine.  She said nothing for many long minutes other than mutter that she was overdoing it, or murmuring about what on earth she was even trying to prove by coming along. 

 

Yoruichi knew the answer to this already, even if she chose not to share it out loud.  Going on with her daily routine as scheduled would serve to quiet one of her biggest misgivings: the fear that she would have to change her life completely, if she chose to become a mother.

 

She wasn't naïve; she knew that there were certain realities that she simply could not ignore –and frankly wouldn't want to.  But if motherhood meant that she had to change everything about herself and her life that made her happy, reverse every single decision she'd made when choosing to follow Kisuke and Tessai into the human world, then she was certain she wanted no part of it. 

 

"Do you want to do the talking or should I?" Kūkaku asked, breaking the long silence and pulling Yoruichi out of her reverie.

 

"Well, I'm the one who should apologize," Yoruichi said.  "Formally and all.  As for the rest… let's see how it goes.  If you sense they're not warming up to me, feel free to step in."

 

"You think they'll be willing to talk?  Even if they forgive the whole incident."

 

"I'm not leaving that damn place without some answers," Yoruichi said, chewing on a piece of ginger savagely, with determination to both live up to her words and stave off the renewed wave of nausea.

 

A rudimentary examination of the scrolls had revealed little that might be of use to them.  Kisuke, working remotely from Karakura, was still poring over the scans the SRDI had procured for him, but had impressed upon them the need to press forward.  With the Mimihagi angle all but exhausted, it was essential to move on to the remaining parts of the Soul King, and on that front, they had no more than a brief note to work with: the mere mention of two additional shrines within the Seireitei, but no further details on their location.  

 

"Why only two shrines?" Yoruichi said, voicing the trail end of her thoughts out loud.  "With the Mimihagi source pinned down, there should be _four_ more total.  I need to know what the hell happened to the remaining two."

 

"Perhaps they don't know," Kūkaku said.  "If the Quincy managed to get a hold of the heart and the left hand a long time ago, there might not even exist any records to account for the theft."

 

"The only other time the Quincy ever managed to breach Soul Society was a thousand years ago," Yoruichi said.  "And we know that Captain Ukitake became a vessel nearly two thousand years ago.  So one of two things is happening here: either a past infiltration that was never made public knowledge, or…"

 

"Or there was never a theft to begin with," Kūkaku said.  "Which begs the question: why the hell would the Quincy ever be entrusted with two parts of the Soul King?"

 

_Why, indeed._

 

The trip to the Sakahone district seemed longer this time around, the fatigue and nausea weighing on Yoruichi to the point that she had to force herself to place one foot after the other.  Judging by the furtive, smug glances Kūkaku kept shooting her, she must've been well aware of this by now, but didn't press the matter, which only made Yoruichi all the more determined to prove her wrong.

 

Chugging down a big gulp of tea off her canteen, she marched on, singing a silent song of triumph when they reached the final stretch, the shrine looming straight ahead at the end of the stairway.

 

Her elation didn't last long, however, as they were greeted by the sight of two priests marching down the steps, defiant.  Clearly, they'd spotted her approaching and had already put their walls up, ready to send them away without letting them get a word in edgewise.

 

Standing at the foot of the stairway, Yoruichi took a deep breath in, stomach churning.  She mustered whatever poise and politeness had stuck with her through her childhood etiquette lessons, opened her mouth… then promptly threw up all over the priests' sandals. 

 

Next to her, Kūkaku fell into a fit of hysterical laughter.

 

* * *

 

**AUGUST 18 TH, 2003 A.D., FOURTH DIVISION RELIEF STATION, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

Isane watched closely as the strong, thick fingers worked with dexterity and precision she wouldn't have thought possible, coaxing the remnants of Quincy reiatsu out of the wound on the young man's arm.  A limb she had previously written off as irreparable, at least not in any way comparable to its former mobility, and yet she had never before been more pleased to find herself in the wrong.

 

"Amazing," she gasped out, shaking her head.  "Your precision is…"

 

Tsukabishi Tessai peered down at her over the rim of his glasses, a soft smile appearing underneath his thick mustache.  "Would you like to give it a try, Isane-dono?"

 

Her immediate answer in the past might've been negative, but when the opportunity was right within her grasp, presenting itself so readily, Isane found that she could not resist.  Biting down on her lower lip, she didn't even waste time getting into their usual, good-natured argument over honorifics; getting him down from Kotetsu-dono to Isane-dono was achievement enough, and it seemed he would never drop the honorific no matter how many times she asked.

 

"I…  Do you think—?" she began, and in silent response, Tessai stepped aside to make room for her.

 

Taking in a deep breath, Isane approached, holding out her hand.  A film of cold sweat coated her back; though praised for her reiatsu control from both Tessai and the late— _No, **don't.**   Not now, don't think about the Captain now-_ her former colleague, her precision had always been lacking.  Over the past week, she had watched Tessai closely, did her best to incorporate his advice into her spellcasting, and she knew she had improved, but—

 

 _You'll never know until you try._   

 

Confident that he wouldn't have offered her a shot if he could not reverse any possible damage, Isane swallowed her fear, buried it into the depths of her chest, then slowly, carefully, allowed her reiatsu to seep into the cut, working on siphoning out the foreign particles one by one.  She wasn't even aware she'd been holding her breath until the delicate operation was over, and she let out a joyous gasp of air.

 

"Excellent work," Tessai said, moving in to close up the wound and cover it with a fresh set of dressings.

 

Outside the operation room, Isane allowed herself to half-collapse against the wall, pulling down her surgical mask to gulp in the air by the lungful.  Though her body was crying out for rest, her mind was running a mile a second, still high on her latest breakthrough. 

 

Half-lidded eyes took in the nearly deserted corridor.  If asked back in late June, she would've said she never thought she'd ever see the Relief Center in any state other than complete and utter chaos again.  Short-staffed and overworked, the men and women of the Fourth Division had toiled tirelessly over the wounded that never seemed to stop pouring in through their doors.  Triage had lost all meaning, as the realities of treating patients whose bodies had been embedded with foreign reiatsu had forced them to reprioritize and make their peace with long-term care even for some of the least emergent cases. 

 

At long last, daily routine within the Relief Station seemed to have returned to its former pace, with few patients still receiving treatment, the majority of them out of immediate danger.  Captain Ukitake had been relegated a special case, requiring round-the-clock supervision, his status deemed confidential and only ever revealed to select few.  Not even Isane herself knew the specifics, and as much as she wanted to believe in a medical miracle, her heart told her that they were doing little more than prolonging his suffering.

 

Her train of thought was disrupted when the door to the operating room creaked open, Tessai's head peeking out.  "Isane-dono?"

 

Following the trajectory of his eyes, Isane realized she hadn't changed or washed up, and hurried back inside to clean up properly.  Once out of her scrubs, her hands stinging after the vigorous wash, she stretched, relishing the feel of the cricks in her spine giving way one at a time.

 

"I think we're just about done for tonight, Tessai-san," she said.  "You should go rest, you've been in surgery for hours now." 

 

Tessai busied himself cleaning out his glasses on his green slacks, then held them up before the light.  "Any word on Harribel-dono's condition?" he asked, slipping his glasses back on.

 

Isane leaned back against the sinks, arms folded before her chest.  "The truth?"

 

Tessai blinked at her behind his –now clean- spectacles.  "Yes, of course."

 

"I have _no_ idea why we're still treating her," Isane said, a surge of warmth creeping its way up her cheeks. 

 

She didn't think she would've shared her thoughts so brazenly with another colleague, and the fact that Tessai was not a member of the Gotei made her feel more at ease right at this moment. 

 

"She wasn't grievously injured to begin with, she mostly required rest and recuperation.  She's been in perfectly adequate shape to travel for _weeks_ now, but… the Captain Commander…" Isane scraped the floor with her shoe, taking in a deep breath.  "He insists we extend her stay for as long as possible.  And quite frankly, I'm running out of different ways to tell the Arrancar that she just needs to regain some weight and color.  She's fine, and they can see it, too; they know we're lying."   

 

If she were being entirely honest, Isane was beginning to lose her patience with the Captain Commander on a _number_ of issues.  Captain Ukitake and Tier Harribel's continued treatment, the unannounced introduction of three outsiders to the Relief Station…

 

She wasn't ungrateful, she knew all too well that Yadōmaru Lisa and Ushoda Hachigen had helped lessen their load considerably.  Hachigen, in particular, had been instrumental in Tier Harribel's successful treatment back when she'd needed it, as someone who possessed a unique understanding of her reiatsu makeup, hers being so similar to his own.  And Tessai… Tessai had become a friend and a mentor in tremendously little time.

 

But Isane was no fool.  She knew they had been brought in to cover the gaping holes left in the Gotei ranks.  Quite frankly, she would have zero objections to Tessai taking over the Fourth Division.  She knew better than anyone that she was not ready to assume Captaincy, and she bore no ill will toward the newcomers, but all the secrecy and only hesitant cooperation from the First Division was driving her up the wall.      

 

"I would imagine this is an attempt to keep the Arrancar pleased," Tessai said, making his way to the door.  "Showing them that their Queen will receive only the best of care in our hands, in honor of our latest alliance."

 

"Agreed, but…" Isane said, following him out into the corridor.  "Why the pretence?  Why go through all this trouble, unless they— Oh, _rats_.  Speak of the devil…"

 

The two Arrancar in question were currently making their way down the corridor, the young, green-haired woman striding forward full of purpose, while her blue-haired companion followed along, looking dreadfully bored and so very _over_ it all.  Isane swallowed hard; the last time Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had been bored, it had taken half the cafeteria food to appease him and keep him from trashing half the cots in the hallway.

 

In an attempt to nip an oncoming argument in the bud, Isane held up her hands at once.  "I'm afraid I have no new updates for you—"

 

"That is fine," the woman, Nelliel, said.  "We're just here to see Harribel-sama."

 

"You.  _You're_ here to see _Harribel-sama_ ," Grimmjow spat out, in a mocking imitation of her voice.  "I'm here for the free food."

 

"I'm afraid visiting hours are over for the day, Nelliel-dono, _Grimmjow_ -dono," Tessai said, his eyes narrowing as he addressed the latter.  "But feel free to come again tomorrow morning after 10 am."

 

Grimmjow glared back at him, something about the inflection in Tessai's voice visibly putting him on his guard.  Isane knew Grimmjow was somehow affiliated with Urahara Kisuke, same as Tessai, but she was clearly missing some context in this silent interaction.

 

"Tch, like I care," Grimmjow muttered, looking away.  "I don't give a damn about Harribel, but you shitheads are using this one—" He jutted his thumb toward Nelliel.  "—As an excuse to keep from opening the damn Garganta, like I can't get back home on my own—"

 

"Grimmjow, for the _last_ time, Queen Harribel—" Nelliel began.

 

"Queen Harribel can _suck a bag of—_ "

 

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off when Nelliel whacked him upside the head; Isane knew at once, the way prey sensed an incoming predator right in their very bones only when it was too late, that she had gone overboard.  At least as far as Grimmjow was concerned.  His blue eyes burned like butane, nostrils flared, and he moved so fast that Isane could only close her eyes and wait for the scream that never came.

 

"Now, now… What have we said about whipping our claws out?  Scratching posts only."

 

Still holding her breath, Isane cracked one eye open, then another, the words dying on her lips.  She prided herself in her ability to sense reiatsu from miles away, and yet Shihōin Yoruichi had somehow managed to sneak up on them within the blink of an eye without anyone noticing.

 

Her hand firmly grasping Grimmjow's wrist, she smirked at him when he looked over his shoulder and gave her a glare of pure loathing.  He yanked his arm away, then stalked down the corridor, muttering obscenities. 

 

"Tomorrow at ten?" Nelliel said, her eyes on Grimmjow's retreating form.

 

"Yes, Nelliel-san.  Apologies for the inconvenience," Isane said, giving a weak wave when the Arrancar woman followed in Grimmjow's wake.    

 

"Yoruichi-dono, is everything all right?"

 

Isane turned to Shihōin Yoruichi just in time to spot the momentary glimmer of surprise in her eyes.  Clearly, she hadn't expected to run into Tessai.

 

Her recovery was lightning-fast.  "I'm fine, but Hiyori wanted a talk with Lieutenant Kotetsu," she said.  "She's waiting for you in a room at the clinic."

 

Tessai didn't look convinced, and neither was Isane.  For one thing, Shihōin Yoruichi was _still_ suppressing her spiritual pressure down to near non-existence, a feat not only immensely taxing, but also rather peculiar for anyone not actively seeking to sneak up on someone.

 

"It's a delicate matter.  Shall we?" she said, and before Isane could argue, she found herself being dragged down the corridor, Shihōin Yoruichi bidding goodnight to Tessai as they strode away.

 

Isane didn't manage to get a word in until she was all but shoved into an examination room in the clinic.  Predictably, Sarugaki Hiyori was nowhere to be found.

 

Shihōin Yoruichi closed the door behind them, now looking mildly apologetic.  "Sorry about that," she said.  "I just didn't want to…" she trailed off, her eyes seeking out Isane's.  "I asked around.  You're… you have some experience with, erm… female matters?" she said, cringing.

 

 _Female matters?_   "Are you… looking for hygiene products?"

 

"No, I—" Taking in a deep breath, as though she were preparing herself to utter something distasteful, she looked away when she spoke next.  "Obstetrics.  I meant obstetrics."

 

It took a second for her words to click.  "Oh.  _Ohhhhh_ …  Er, yes, of course!" Isane said, standing up to full height and trying to look dignified after that ridiculous display of open gaping.  "Why don't we head into— Oh, hey, would you look at that, we're already in a proper examination room; lucky!" she said, taking in her surroundings.  There was a beat, during which her own words and the situation all gelled together, and she felt like the world's biggest idiot.  "Which… you clearly already knew, because you chose it with that in mind.  I just got that now."

 

"I did."

 

"……I swear I'm a good doctor."

 

"It's all right, I ambushed you."

 

"Right, well… Shihōin-sama, if you'll just—"

 

"Oh gods, please, just call me Yoruichi-san or something," she said, shuddering.  "Shihōin-sama is my father."

 

"Right then, Yoruichi-san," Isane said with a chuckle.  "There are gowns in the cabinet over there.  Please get changed and we'll start the examination."

 

It took a bit of coaxing to get Yoruichi to speak plainly about the precise reason for her visit, not that it had been necessary, but Isane had wanted there to be no misunderstandings.  When Yoruichi was comfortably laid out on the table, or as comfortable as she was going to get, Isane placed her hand over her stomach, her fingers glowing with green energy, and she reached out.

 

After a few seconds of silent concentration, she broke into a broad smile.  At long last, after all the pain, the blood and loss of the past couple of months, she was finally in a position to give someone genuinely good news.  "There it is," she said.  "Feels about… Oh, there's a heartbeat!  Then you're at _least_ six weeks along—"

 

"A heartbeat?" Yoruichi repeated, her mouth growing slack.

 

Isane met her wide, disbelieving eyes and smiled even more broadly, nodding.  "Hmmm… I'd say it feels _exactly_ the expected size for a six week old fetus.  Which would put your conception date around—"

 

"The sixth of July."

 

"Oh?  You know the precise date?"

 

"…I have a hunch."

 

"Well, I'd say it's more than a hunch; you're right on the mark, give or take a couple of days," Isane said, withdrawing her hand.  "I'm afraid it's a little too soon to give you more details on the fetus's vitals, but I'm _very_ pleased to say: congratulations, you're going to be a mother!"

 

Her enthusiastic announcement didn't receive the reaction she'd been expecting.  In fact, it was now becoming clear to Isane that the demeanor she had originally attributed to mere nerves was not going to be changing for the better any time soon.  Yoruichi took in a deep, calming breath, her face still stuck in an expression of not only disbelief, but something akin to resignation as well.

 

 _Oh… crap._   "I, um… I'm sorry to put it bluntly, but I need to ask: is there a possibility you may wish to terminate the pregnancy?"

 

Yoruichi shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.  "I… I don't…"

 

"You know what?  It's— You have plenty of time to decide," Isane hurried to say, not meaning to put her on the spot when it was clear she hadn't yet made up her mind.  "Well, not _plenty_ , about a month and a half tops, but—" _OH MY GOD SHUT UP **NOW**._  

 

By now she was well and truly wishing Yoruichi had asked for a different doctor, one specializing in obstetrics, who had given this speech a thousand times over and knew how to cover the important details while sidestepping all the potential pitfalls Isane herself seemed to be aiming straight for.  

 

"Sorry… foot… mouth…" she muttered, then took a steadying breath, pulling herself together.  "Whatever your decision, it should be made by early October at the latest," she said.  "I'm here for _any_ questions you may have.  Just… in case you decide you _do_ want to… proceed with the pregnancy, there are a few things I need to go over quickly.  You probably already know most of it, but I'm obligated to say it.  I'm sure you already know that smoking, drinking and engaging in recreational drug use is very harmful for the baby," she said.  "Exercise is fine, so long as you don't push yourself to your limits.  I would also caution against Shunpō, because it puts a strain on the body—"

 

At the sound of this, Yoruichi reacted for the first time since Isane had begun speaking, looking genuinely fearful.  "Shunpō is—?"

 

"It's okay if you've used it up until now," Isane said.  "I just examined you and the fetus is fine.  But in the future, it's best to avoid it unless _absolutely_ _necessary_ , and even then, try to keep the jumps small.  Other than that… At this point in your pregnancy, you should be experiencing fatigue, perhaps some nausea—"

 

Yoruichi let out a scoff. 

 

"Anything too severe?"

 

"Er, I dunno… What's _too_ severe?"

 

"Being unable to keep _any_ meal down."

 

"No, I'm good."

 

"All right then," Isane said.  "It's a good idea to stick to food that's easily digestible and to eat as often as you can, even if it seems counter-productive.  The nausea is a by-product of hunger, so keeping your stomach from going empty is a good way to stave it off.  Some home remedies might help, ginger in particular."

 

Yoruichi nodded, staying silent and in wait, presumably for Isane to finish her speech.  When no further advice was forthcoming, she broke the silence.  "Are we, uh… done?"

 

"Well, normally I'd give you a more thorough exam, take a detailed history, but until you make your decision…"

 

"Right, yes," Yoruichi said, pushing herself up into a sitting position on the table.  "I'll… I'll let you know as soon as—" Something seemed to occur to her at that moment, and she turned to Isane again, wearing the same fearful expression she had when she'd been cautioned against Shunpō.  "You mentioned history.  Family history, too, I assume?"

 

"Yes.  Is there a problem?"

 

Hands on her lap, Yoruichi stared at her knees and her fidgeting fingers.  "My mother… She had great difficulty both conceiving and carrying me and my brother to term.  She, um… she miscarried many times before she was successful.  Is that sort of thing… hereditary?"

 

"Hmmm, yes and no," Isane said.  "As in, yes it _can_ be, but I can tell you right now that it won't be an issue for you."

 

Yoruichi looked up at her hesitantly, as though she didn't dare feel too hopeful.  "Are you sure?"

 

"It's all in your reiatsu.  Carrying a child to term successfully is a problem for women who have more erratic, unstable reiatsu by nature," Isane said, thankful for the opportunity to delve into the more technical aspects where she felt truly comfortable.  "I have never met your Lady mother, but my first guess would be that this was what caused her problems.  There are certain ways to help an expecting mother along the way if that is the case, but you will not be needing them; yours is perfectly stable.  As for conception itself, again, reiatsu matters.  It takes a great amount of spiritual energy from both parties to create life, which is why it's rare for Rukongai citizens to procreate; most of them are simply unable to.  The bigger the reiatsu pool, the easier it becomes to conceive.  In your case, given who you are and who the father is—"

 

_…Well, **that** didn't take long._

 

"Er… I mean…" Isane stammered, trying to salvage this.  "Who I _assume_ … That is… I don't mean to pry—"

 

Yoruichi seemed almost amused by her spluttering by this point, giving her a half smile.  "It is who you think it is."

 

"Right.  Well… Then in your case, there was never any question about whether or not you would be able to conceive eventually, should you choose to try."

 

As much as she may wish to witness her patient leave the examination room wearing a smile, Isane knew it wasn't her place to say any more, not until Yoruichi had made her decision.  When she changed back into her clothes and big her farewell, Isane was all too relieved to see her go, marvelling at just how far she still had to go in order to live up to even a morsel of Captain Unohana's greatness.

 

And for the first time that day, as she sank deep into her chair, she allowed herself to think of her erstwhile mentor, of the woman whose shoes she may never be able to adequately fill.

 

* * *

 

 

**AUGUST 20 TH, 2003 A.D., FIRST DIVISION BARRACKS, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

She knew her already _long_ day was far from over the second she opened the door to his office, only to hear:

 

"Nanao-chan… I've been _baaad_."

 

 _Oh boy._   "I shudder to ask," she muttered. 

 

Steeling herself for the worst, Nanao pushed the door open, taking a careful peek inside.  Past experience had taught her that even knocking wasn't a surefire way to prevent an unpleasant shock upon entering the Captain Commander's office, so she made a habit of entering cautiously even after express permission to enter.

 

Still, she reasoned she was unlikely to find him half-naked, tied up against the foot of the desk, the words, "I can explain," tumbling out of his mouth before she could even blink.  _Again_.

 

Mercifully, the Captain Commander appeared to be fully clothed.  He sat draped over his chair, limp and deflated like a discarded piece of clothing, holding up the incriminating evidence of his alleged slip-up: a bottle of sake.

 

At the sight of it, Nanao could only scoff.  " _Please_ ; I _left_ that out for you to find."

 

The Captain Commander made a futile effort to sit up, only managing to crane his neck up a little higher, gaping at her.  "You _did_?"

 

"It's a reward for all the good work you've done lately," she said, ambling into the office, shutting the door behind her.

 

She'd figured keeping him happy every now and then was the best way to get him to do any amount of work.  Much to her surprise, he'd come forward on his own out of a guilty conscience instead of hiding the bottle as he might have in the past.  _Progress, indeed._    

 

"I'm just going to leave these here for you to read and sign tomorrow, sir," she said, laying down a stack of documents on his desk with a thud. 

 

Though clearly inebriated, the Captain Commander glanced at the top of the stack with mild interest.  Nanao supposed if he hadn't perfected the art of maintaining _some_ grasp on reality even when drunk, he would never had made it to Captain to begin with.   

 

"What are those?" he said, glancing at her.

 

"More paperwork from the SRDI," Nanao said.  "Expense reports, mostly, and projected costs for the next phase of construction."

 

"Right.  The containment chamber," he said and turned away, a mild look of distaste curling his lip.

 

"Everything all right, sir?"  

 

"I— Yes, Nanao-chan.  Go get some rest.  You've worked plenty for today."

 

Nanao's eyes stayed on him.  All lights in the office were out, and as he sat there, illuminated by the moonlight, she could count every single line on his face, which seemed to have aged overnight post-war.  Even his teasing had lost some of its past luster, resembling something he did out of habit by now as a coping mechanism, one more step in getting through the day: wake up, have breakfast, work, tease Nanao, more work, dinner, sleep.

 

In another life, the notion that some of her own discipline seemed to have rubbed off on him would have thrilled her, but now that it had come to pass, she'd found that there was no joy to derive from this.  Order and discipline did not suit him.  She had enough of it for the both of them.

 

More than once, she'd felt the need to offer him some words of comfort for the heavy losses he had sustained in this war, but nothing ever felt quite right, or non-patronizing.  What was there to say, really, other than: "I'm so sorry; I grieve with you."

 

Perhaps even something as small would be appreciated, but every time she opened her mouth to speak, she was gripped with the need to say something profound and always came up short.  Best say nothing at all, she'd reasoned, when the alternative was an empty platitude he'd already heard a thousand times over from both friends and sycophants.

 

"Yes, sir.  Goodn—"

 

"He never had a say in what happened to his own body."

 

The palpable pain, the brittleness in his voice stopped her on her tracks.  Looking over her shoulder, Nanao met her Captain's limpid eyes, and there was a silent plea written there.  He wasn't asking her to say anything, but he was asking her to _listen_ , and Nanao's feet closed the distance without so much as a second thought.  Walking around the desk, she hovered uncertainly for a moment, coming to sit up on the desktop.

 

The Captain shifted in his chair, his eyes still locked on hers in supplication.

 

"Captain Ukitake?" she said.

 

He nodded.  "Ever since… ever since he was a boy, he never…"  Closing his eyes momentarily, he tapped his fingers against his brow.  "He'd always say… He'd always be thankful for the second chance, for the… but at what cost?  He always suffered, always…"

 

"Not always."

 

The Captain opened his grey eyes slowly.  "You know… Yama-ji tried to impress on us the difficulty of this job, the responsibility.  One of the hardest things, he said, was knowing when to let things go.  Taking action, jumping into the fray… that's a soldier's natural reaction.  But it's the opposite that makes a leader."

 

"You think you ought to have let him die?"

 

The Captain let out a wry scoff.  "Isn't he already—?"  He pursed his lips.  "How can I call myself his friend if I'm no better than those who did this to him?  How can I make this decision to… to use him like a _husk_ —?"  He was unable to continue until he took a swig of sake, and Nanao didn't admonish him for it, merely stayed silent, waiting for him to find the right words.  "If the best way we can come up with to keep this world intact is sacrificing an innocent, maybe it's not a world worth saving in the first place."

 

Nanao said nothing for a long while, allowing the silence to stretch, a little unsure of her own thoughts.  Deciding to follow her Captain's lead for once, she did the one thing she had sworn she'd never do in his presence and reached out for the bottle.

 

To hell with her schedule. 

 

In her mind's eye, she pictured herself drawing a big, red arrow over her crisp, perfectly lettered schedule, right between _SRDI rotation – 6pm_ and _Sleep – 11pm:_

_Drinking with the Captain – 10:59 pm._

 

The sake burned her throat, but she welcomed it, the dash of the unexpected that made her eyes water and her sinuses come to life.  With a slight gasp, she set the bottle down with a loud clang, then met the Captain's gaze, now nearly comical in its complete and utter shock.

 

"Captain Ukitake gave up his life believing it would make a difference," she said.  "That it would turn the tide of the war.  He was a man who believed in making a sacrifice for the greater good.  And you're right: our world is not worth saving if we're unwilling to move forward, to change."

 

She was beginning to understand now, why they called it _liquid courage_ , as she reached out to place one hand over his. 

 

"And if you let it end now, like this, then his sacrifice was in vain.  And I think he was worth a lot more than this… don't you?"

 

Lips parted, the Captain threaded his fingers with hers, his posture straightening up, the glimmer of hope returning in his eyes, as if he were drawing strength from the warmth of her hand.

 

"Yes, Nanao-chan."

 

_Saving the world – 11:01 pm._

 

* * *

 

 

**AUGUST 21 ST, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN**

 

It had started out innocuously enough.  If anything, she had been relieved to find luck had been on her side: having long ago run out of excuses for her prolonged stay in Soul Society, Yoruichi had returned home that morning with dread gripping her insides, only to be informed that Kisuke had been locked up in his study for hours now and was unlikely to emerge for many more.

 

That very stroke of luck should've been her first clue that the rest of the day was going to get progressively worse.

 

"Oh my _god,_ will you quit your whining already?"

 

"You _knew_ I was saving up the episodes for later and you _still_ taped over it—"

 

"Who the hell even uses VHS anymore?  Go get the damn DVD—"

 

"Language, Jinta-dono!"

 

"—and watch your stupid k-drama—"

 

"It's _not_ stupid!  And I don't care if there's a DVD; you did it on _purpose_ , I _know_ you did—"

 

"Ohhhhhhh, Min Soo Yeooooooon!"

 

"STOP IT!"

 

Her eyes flitting from Jinta to Ururu and back again rapidly, as though watching a particularly intense tennis match, Yoruichi lamented the fact that she had even intervened to begin with.  She was grateful, at the very least, that Tessai was in the kitchen, no longer throwing her infuriatingly knowing looks like he had since she'd gotten home.  But she could've used his help right about now, aside from the occasional yell from the other room.

 

Then again, she'd gotten herself into this mess out of her own volition, in a seriously misguided attempt to… _What, exactly?  What were you trying to prove?_

 

Still, there was little point in admonishing herself for what was already a done deal.  And if she didn't put an end to this soon, the gentle throbbing in her temple was threatening to build up into a full-blown migraine.

 

"Which… which show was it again?" she said, in an effort to curtail the fight before it well and truly blew up, buying herself some time to come up with something of actual essence to contribute.

 

"Or-In," Ururu said, looking at her hopefully, as though she expected Yoruichi to take her side.

 

Before she could think better of it, Yoruichi cringed.

 

"HA!  _SEE?_   Yoruichi-san thinks it's lame, too!"

 

"No, I don't— Wait— Ururu!"

 

But before she could do more than sputter out an excuse, Ururu burst into tears and thundered up the stairs, howling.  Cackling, Jinta skipped out of the foyer without another word, leaving Yoruichi sitting there by the chabudai, feeling wretched.

 

In the ringing silence, Tessai peeked around the threshold, checking out the coast before he stepped inside, ladle in hand.  "Well… at least they've stopped shouting."

 

Letting out a sigh, Yoruichi hugged her shins tightly and bumped her head against her knees.  " _Yup_.  Go me." 

 

For the longest time, Tessai said nothing, leading her to believe he'd returned to cooking dinner, until Yoruichi heard a muted thud.  She looked up just in time to see Tessai deposit a bowl of rice and a cup of tea on the table.  Realizing she had eaten nothing for hours, Yoruichi lunged for the bowl at once, wary of an incriminating wave of nausea rearing its ugly head if she waited too long.  As she washed down the uncomfortably large first mouthful with some tea, Yoruichi found that the taste was eerily familiar.

 

 _Ginger_.

 

Freezing in mid-chew, she directed her wide-eyed gaze to Tessai, who did no more than give her a sympathetic smile.  "It'll get easier, Yoruichi-dono."

 

Whether he meant the nausea, or her pitiful attempt to try and settle an argument between two hormonal teenagers, she never got to find out.  At that precise moment, Kisuke came stumbling out of his study, clutching his coffee mug and looking like he hadn't slept in about a week.

 

"Did I hear yelling?" he said, scratching the back of his head.  "Did someth—? Yoruichi-san!  You're back!"    

 

Well, at the very least, masking her spiritual signature had been a resounding success.  Her stomach plummeting at the sight of him, Yoruichi could do no more than nod, her mouth still full with rice.

 

Wearing a pleasantly bemused expression, Kisuke gave her the one-over, his eyebrows twitching close together for just the briefest of moments, as though in confusion.  He shook it off quickly, but she hadn't missed it.  "Oh, are we eating now?" he said, noticing Yoruichi's supper on the table.  "I was hoping to run outside real quick and refill Ninja-Pirate's bowl."

 

"Refill _whose_ bowl?" Yoruichi said.

 

Grinning broadly, Kisuke dug into his pocket.  "You're going to get a kick out of this—"

 

"Er… Tenchō, I don't think now is the best—"

 

"I found her a little over a week ago, wandering around the back alley.  Behold!" Kisuke said, gleeful, holding out his phone right in front of her.  A small black cat graced the screen, one whose left eye was noticeably missing.  "Ninja-Pirate Shihōin: our lovechild."

 

All the ginger tea in the world couldn't have kept her dinner down.

 

The last thing Yoruichi heard before she skidded away from the table, hand over her mouth, was Tessai's deep sigh, and Kisuke's confused: "What?  What did I say?"

 

Immensely thankful that he didn't get any bright ideas about following her into the bathroom, Yoruichi dragged herself upstairs once her stomach had settled down, crawling under the futon and curling up into a tight little ball of misery.  

 

The room next door was completely silent, meaning that Ururu was no longer crying.  _Wonderful.  You only made a little girl cry for two to three minutes tops, congratulations,_ Yoruichi thought, burying her head under the pillow.  If nothing else, today was proof enough that one of her greatest fears concerning this pregnancy was absolutely, one hundred percent justified. 

 

She wasn't cut out for this.

 

She tried to summon up some relief, any kind of positive feeling that, at the very least, she no longer had to torture herself and wonder about the right call to make, but all she felt was hollow and exhausted.   

 

Which, given how her day was going so far, was naturally the exact moment Kisuke chose enter the room, after giving the door a gentle rap.  "Yoruichi-san?"

 

With a groan that sounded a lot more like a whimper, Yoruichi pulled her head out from under the pillow and looked up.

 

Smiling tentatively, Kisuke approached the futon, tray in hand.  "Tessai sent this up," he said, setting down a cup and steaming teapot.  "Thought you could use it."

 

Yoruichi combed her hand quickly through her hair and sat up on the futon.  "Thanks."

 

Kisuke crouched down, filling up the cup for her and set the teapot aside before taking a seat next to her on the futon.  He said nothing, arms wrapped loosely around his shins, avoiding her gaze as she began sipping her tea.

 

"You okay?"

 

"Mmm."

 

"You know I… You know I was kidding, right?  About the, uh… lovechild thing?" he said, venturing an apologetic glance her way. 

 

"I know."

 

"But… we need to talk, don't we?" His voice was quiet, guarded, but in the silence of the room, it sounded deafening. 

 

The answer escaped her lips before she had time to reconsider: "Yes."

 

With a somber nod, Kisuke rubbed the back of his neck, very deliberately staring at his feet.  "Am I about to discover why you've been so eager to stay in Soul Society lately?  And why you've spent the whole day subtly regulating your spiritual pressure?"

 

Yoruichi felt her jaw tighten, clenching under the weight of every unspoken word.  It really was no use trying to conceal anything from Kisuke, which was the precise reason she'd stayed away for as long as she could before her absence became conspicuous.  "You noticed."

 

"I did," he said, and Yoruichi couldn't help but wonder whether his palms were as clammy as hers at this very moment.  "Were you concerned I'd pick up on your moods?"

 

"Something like that…"

 

Every time she'd imagined telling Kisuke, she could only ever see him ecstatic at the news, in contrast to her own gnawing worries.  Facing his unrestrained happiness when she wasn't quite ready to reciprocate it yet – _If ever-_ when she knew how much her own lukewarm reaction would hurt him, had been a fear that had kept her up every single night since she'd first begun to suspect she might be pregnant.

 

She couldn't have imagined that by the end of this day, she would be _wishing_ for this reaction.

 

Lips slightly pursed, Kisuke nodded again, a sad smile forming on his lips.  "Guess this conversation has been a long time coming… Probably should've had it when you came back after Kuchiki-san was arrested… But there were more pressing matters and afterward we just… never got around to it."

 

Despite the warm summer night, Yoruichi clutched her tea cup close to her chest, hoping the heat would radiate out into her numb, frozen limbs.

 

"Tessai told me what happened," Kisuke said, looking up at long last.  "Though I had noticed it myself a while ago."

 

"Noticed…?" Yoruichi said, her back breaking out in cold sweat.

 

"You.  Trying," he said, smiling softly.  "With the kids."

 

"Oh.  I, uh… I—"

 

"You don't have to say anything," Kisuke cut her off, his expression unwavering.  "I never expected— There was never any pressure for you to… adopt some sort of role you didn't want.  I think it's why you've stayed away for a few weeks now—"

 

Mouth falling slack, Yoruichi now well and truly lamented the fact that she hadn't insisted she go first.

 

"—And I just wanted to tell you that it's okay if you needed a break.  You don't have to—"

 

"Kisuke—"

 

"— force yourself into doing anything you don't want to—"

 

" _Kisuke_."

 

Her sharp interjection had the desired effect.  Falling silent at long last, Kisuke stared at her as though he were deathly afraid of what he might hear next.

 

With a deep breath, Yoruichi set her cup down by the floor, bracing her hands against her knees.  "I wasn't avoiding the kids," she said, her insides swarming like a nest of vipers.  "I just needed some time to think.  And… I didn't want you to notice the change."

 

"The change," Kisuke said, having no problem connecting the dots.  "In your reiatsu."

 

"Yes."

 

Face clouding, Kisuke's eyes flitted from the teacup to her and back again. 

 

It was like a single drop of ink had fallen into a clear pool of water, contaminating it: the merest hint of something different broke through the clouded gray, until it consumed his stare entirely.  Suddenly, he was _terrified._

 

And with that single shift in his eyes, she remembered the only other time in living memory she had ever seen him as upset.  With recollection came understanding, and the growing, tightening knot in her stomach loosened at once. 

 

"I'm not sick," she hurried to say, realizing that from his point of view, her furtiveness must've been a terrible reminder of his past experience with his mother, who had hidden her own illness in a similar fashion until it was too late.

 

"Yoruichi, please don't—"

 

"I'm _not._ "

 

"—do this.  Don't make me—"

 

" _God,_ once you get an idea stuck in that damn head of yours, it's _impossible_ to—"

 

"Well, what I am _supposed_ to assume—?"

 

"I'm not sick, you idiot, I'm _pregnant_."

 

The moment she said it, out loud, there was no taking it back.  That simple declaration would split their conversations, their every interaction down to two sides: before and after.  She knew, could feel it down to her very bones, that no matter what her ultimate decision might be, this would forever be a turning point in their lives.  

 

For the longest time, Kisuke's face seemed to be stuck in the same perplexed look.  Confusion looked alien on him, more like a facsimile of what he thought the expression should look like, an experimental product he had pieced together through observation but couldn't quite pull off convincingly.   "…you're…?"

 

It shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did; it _was_ a shock, after all, but Yoruichi still found herself rolling her eyes at him impatiently.  "Preg-nant.  Knocked up.  With child."

 

"Are you… serious?"

 

Letting out a sigh, Yoruichi finally released her reiatsu in silent demonstration, allowing it to flow free and permeate the room.

 

Confusion gave way to curiosity.  She had no idea if he had ever been exposed to a pregnant woman's reiatsu before, but she could see it in his eyes, the way he was slowly coming to ascertain the second presence within her, bundled up under layer after layer.  Her spiritual signature had changed fundamentally, no longer an 'I' but a 'we.' 

 

Mercifully, Kisuke's expression began to shift, his eyes softening.  "That night in Thailand."

 

Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, Yoruichi felt the heat rush up to her cheeks.  "Yeah, that's… my guess as well."

 

"I'm sorry I got a little— I just thought—"

 

"I know what you thought.  It's okay."

 

And there it was; the part she had been least looking forward to.  Kisuke's face fell, his half-formed smile turning into a frown she could see he was struggling to keep from deepening.  "But this is… an unwanted development?"

 

The mere hint of brittleness in his voice cut sharper than a serrated knife.  "I… I don't know," she said, unable to hide the tone of apology in her voice, and it was the most honest thing she could say at that moment.  "Maybe not?  I…"

 

Kisuke scooted forward on the futon, reaching out for her hand.  The supplication in his eyes was not what she had been expecting; as much as she knew how he'd longed for this, his silent request was not a plea to come around to his way of thinking, but rather a plea for honesty.

 

Taking a deep breath, Yoruichi tightened her grip on his hand.  "It's not… it's not the kid itself I— I mean… I'm not _entirely_ convinced I could— But still, that's not the part I…"

 

"Nothing has to change."

 

Yoruichi stared at him, long and hard, a miniscule smile breaking through her stone mask at the fact that he had known at once, with so little context, what had been troubling her the most.  " _Some_ things have to change."

 

"True," Kisuke said, nodding as he stroked her hand.  "But I don't expect you to change yourself.  You know this, right?"

 

The honest answer was 'yes,' but as she opened her mouth to respond, her jaw trembling, Yoruichi found herself blurting out something else, hating how small her voice sounded as she said, "I can't even be a half-way decent sister."

 

"Hey, hey, don't say that…" Kisuke said, cupping her cheek with his other hand.

 

And though her first instinct was to shake him off, to suck it up and exert some control over her tremulous voice, she found herself leaning into his touch.  "It's true.  What's the point of having a kid if I'm just gonna screw it up?"

 

"You think you screwed up your brother?"

 

The disbelief in his voice injected some warmth back into her, and she couldn't help the wry grin that tugged on her lips.  "I don't think it's _physically_ possible to screw up Yūshirō; that kid could find a silver lining in a cloud of black, toxic smoke."

 

Kisuke laughed, and for a brief, joyous moment, so did she.  Yet even as she welcomed the short respite, it hadn't been enough to banish the thoughts away.

 

"It's not just Yūshirō," she said.  "I mean, look at my track record: absentee sister, mentor, and awkward guardian of two teenagers.  Yeah, I'd make a _great_ mom."

 

His expression plainly stated that he didn't agree, but before he could say anything, she shook her head at him.

 

"You don't get it," she said.

 

"Yoruichi—"

 

"You _don't_ ," she exclaimed, and this time around, she did pull away from his touch.   "Because _you_ had a mother who was sweet and warm and affectionate, who fussed over you and couldn't _wait_ to spend time with you, who braided my hair and sat with us by the fire—"

 

Shutting her eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, Yoruichi felt her throat constrict as the memory of Urahara Kaede's fingers combing through her hair came to her.  The gentle voice, the warm hands, the soft smile as she'd held up a mirror before her to showcase the work of her clever fingers.  She remembered, with perfect clarity, the tightening sensation gripping her small chest, and the sudden, pervasive thought: _"Oh.  So **this** is what it's supposed to feel like."_  

 

"You had a _mother_ ," Yoruichi said, her jaw stiff.  "I had… nobles who procreated."

 

It wasn't until she felt Kisuke's breath caressing her neck that she realized she had somehow found her way into his embrace, fingers tracing the arms that wrapped around her waist from behind.  "We both know that's not entirely true," he said.

 

And even as the more stubborn, bitter parts of her prepared to rise up in unison for a rebuttal, she saw it again, in her mind's eye, the frail, exhausted body, the bony hand clutching hers, the pale blue lips uttering an apology. 

 

_"They expect so much… I wanted to give you someone to share the burden with."_

 

Sighing, Yoruichi bumped the back of her head against Kisuke's collarbone, staring at the ceiling blankly.  "Kids… kids want _more_ out of their parents.  And it's not fair to them— Some people just aren't cut out for parenthood."

 

Kisuke offered no counter-argument to this, the silence between them stretching on as she absently threaded her fingers with his, reveling in the soothing effect of his cheek against her temple, his heartbeat against her back.

 

"I will say this," Kisuke said.  "You are neither your father nor your mother—"

 

Yoruichi let out a scoff; for all her scathing commentary on her parents and their many inadequacies, she was all too aware of the similarities between them.  It was a universally accepted fact that growing up to resemble one's parents, in ways both small and significant, was often, if not always, an inescapable blessing and tragedy. 

 

"—And even if you were," Kisuke went on, his voice rising in volume just a notch.  "I think you're underestimating both theirs and your capacity for affection."

 

Craning her neck up to look at him, Yoruichi searched herself for something, anything, to say in response, but came up short.

 

"The real question is… whether you want this or not," Kisuke said.  "And that…" He took a deep breath in, his jaw set, and for the first time since revealing her secret to him, Yoruichi could fully appreciate what it took for him to say the words, "That is entirely your call."  Laying a soft, lingering kiss on her temple, he extricated himself from the embrace, holding on to her hand for one last, gentle squeeze.  "Think about it."

 

The knot in her stomach returning full-force, Yoruichi gripped his fingers in reflex as he made a move to get up.  "You're not gonna…?"

 

"Try to convince you?" Kisuke said with a soft grin, then shook his head.  "No."

 

"Maybe I _want_ to be convinced," she muttered, fully aware of how infantile she sounded and finding that she didn't care.

 

"Not for this," he said.  "Sleep on it.  Take your time."

 

And as much as she appreciated the fact that he was willing to keep his distance and give her some space, she couldn't think of anything she wanted less at that moment.  She clung to his hand as his fingers began to slip away from her grasp, her gaze resolutely trained on the floor, and he knew, without a word spoken, what she needed right now.

 

Laying down on the futon next to her, he held his arms out for her to crawl into them, as generous and open with his embraces as he'd always been with his heart, at least where she was concerned.  Time lost all meaning, the hours bleeding into one another as she slipped her eyes open every now and then, just to confirm visually that he was still there, still holding her.

 

The sky had turned a deep, muted blue when she spoke again, unsure whether she was still awake or dreaming, the shape of him a hazy, dark silhouette in the darkness.   

 

"Would you hate me?  If I decided I didn't—"

 

" _No_." His voice was firm, the single, candid word punctuated by the tightening of his arms around her shoulders.

 

"But you _would_ be upset."  Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the oncoming protest, and she opened them at once to meet his gaze, fingers closing into a fist around the fabric of his top.  "Be honest."

 

His protracted silence spoke louder than the most desperate cry, bright eyes standing out in stark contrast to the swath of darkness that veiled the rest of him in the semigloom of the room. 

 

"I would be sad," he said, smiling softly at her.  "For a little while.  Not upset.  Not ever."

 

And as she fell silent once more, burying her face in the broad expanse of his chest, she knew, that worst decision would not be the one that would hurt him the most now, but the one she may come to resent him for in the future.

 

* * *

 

 

**AUGUST 25 TH, 2003 A.D., SECOND DIVISION BARRACKS, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

Ankles locked together under the bar, she pushed herself up one last time, fighting against gravity, her abs on fire.  Her body reveled in the burn, muscles taut and hard and singing until she let go with a long, luxurious exhale.

 

Suì-Fēng let her arms drop as she hung upside down, caching her breath.  The delectable soreness spread throughout her from head to toes, a trickle of sweat zig-zagging between the muscles of her abdomen, tracing the seam of flesh down her middle all the way to her chin.  Pressing her hands against the floor, she kicked the wall and brought her legs down in a graceful arc.

 

There was little point in checking the time.  Like a finely tuned clock, her body knew she was right on schedule, her morning routine by now second nature.  Suì-Fēng went through the motions: cool-down, quick breakfast, shower. 

 

Just as they had every single day since she'd entered the Onmitsukidō, the sun's first rays filtered in through the half-open blinds to illuminate the washroom as she wiped a clear streak on the seam-covered mirror.

 

Towel in hand, Suì-Fēng began to buff her hair dry, her reflection staring back at her.

 

_"There are only two types of soldiers, Suì-Fēng: born and trained.  Trained fighters seek out discipline and structure, either to further their own needs or simply because their former lives lacked it.  They can be taught to follow, they can be made to fight, but they remain forever fickle and flexible, a mercenary in all but name._

_A born fighter seeks out the kind of structure that resonates with what already exists in their own hearts.  Their true master is their own blood, and their loyalty is as absolute as the concept of right and wrong in their minds.  A born fighter will never need to be forced to fight: they accept war as an inevitability of life.  Steadfast, tenacious, loyal and inflexible, they are the true soldiers of the bunch._

_The difference between born and made soldiers is the difference between quicksilver and steel."_

_"Which one am I, Yoruichi-sama?"_

 

It had been an inane enough question even at a young age, but she'd wanted to hear the words, childish though it was.  And just as she had for the past few days, Suì-Fēng paused, thumb absently stroking the irises of the girl in the mirror. 

 

Steel grey.      

 

Steadfast, tenacious, loyal—

 

_Inflexible._

 

With a jerk of her head, Suì-Fēng resumed her morning routine, beating Ōmaeda to the punch by exiting her quarters dressed and ready just as he was making his way up the steps.  Perfectly content to prattle on without reciprocation, he serenaded their walk to the official Senkaimon with a constant stream of babble she didn't need to acknowledge beyond the occasional nod.    

 

Her mood wasn't showing any promise of improvement in the near future, either.  Even with the majority of the Gotei roster between them, standing in close proximity to Hirako was unearthing memories of a conversation she had no desire to relive.  And yet even without his presence, she knew she would've been hard-pressed to think of anything else, with the three Arrancar standing before the open Garganta.

 

The Captain Commander was addressing Tier Harribel directly, expressing his hope that their alliance during this war, however temporary, would serve as the springboard to a lifelong one.

 

Suì-Fēng had to mentally restrain herself from scoffing out loud.   

 

A trained soldier if there ever was one, Kyōraku seemed to be hell-bent on setting the Gotei into a path that went against everything they stood for.  It was clear there was an agenda behind this request, even if it wasn't apparent quite yet, but for the life of her, Suì-Fēng couldn't even begin to guess what it might be.

 

_Steadfast, tenacious, loyal._

_Inflexible._

 

Looking away from the grotesque sight of Kyōraku's deference to the Arrancar, Suì-Fēng bit down on her cheek, staring at the ground resolutely.  Whatever sympathy she may have had for Tier Harribel's former situation didn't change the fact that Shinigami and Hollows were enemies by nature.  There was a clear line between duty and needless cruelty, and her ability to recognize the latter, to have some measure of empathy couldn't and shouldn't ever change that simple truth.

 

_"Don't kid yourself, Suì-Fēng.  There was a time, not too long ago, when we would've done the same."_

 

Lifting her eyes off the ground, Suì-Fēng directed them at Hirako, wondering if he could sense the spike of rage in her reiatsu she could only barely contain.  The fury for planting the merest seed of doubt in her mind, one that hadn't existed months ago and was triggered every time she recalled the staggering flash of pain in Tier Harribel's startlingly green eyes.

 

It had only been for a moment, but the rawness, the _reality_ of that pain had struck Suì-Fēng with the force of a tidal wave.  She hadn't been the first one to look away.

 

Nor did she this time around, when she looked up, only to find Tier Harribel staring straight at as she half-listened to Kyōraku's words.

 

A sudden, inexplicable rush of heat licked its way up her neck as more pairs of eyes followed the trajectory of the Arrancar's gaze and settled upon her questioningly.  By the time Kyōraku himself glanced at her over his shoulder, Suì-Fēng was debating venting her mounting discomfort on the closest available target.  Namely Ōmaeda.

 

To her utter relief, Tier Harribel looked away and so did Kyōraku, exchanging one last round of platitudes before the much delayed departure of the Arrancar.  Tier Harribel adjusted the cloak around her shoulders with the effortless poise of royalty, turning to face the Garganta.  Behind her, the green-haired woman looked eager to go, while the blue-haired savage displayed all the grace and civility normally expected by his kind: hands in his pockets, back slouched, wearing an ungrateful expression that made Suì-Fēng regret she hadn't unleashed the entire body of the Onmitsukidō on him while she still had the chance.

 

For one of the few times in her life, Suì-Fēng was grateful for Ōmaeda's eagerness to clear out once the Garganta closed behind the three Arrancar. 

 

"Captain Suì-Fēng!  A moment, please!"

 

Freezing in her tracks, Suì-Fēng had a sudden sense of foreboding, as though she could see it clearly, an incoming disaster she couldn't identify and was powerless to stop.  Clenching her jaw, she turned around, Ōmaeda following suit, his snack bag in hand.  "Yes, Captain Commander?"

 

Lieutenant Ise on his heels, Kyōraku approached the two of them, smiling what Suì-Fēng was certain he considered to be a winning smile.  Unfoundedly so.  "No need to look so tense," he said.  "I merely wanted a quick word before you resume your duties.  You may have noticed Queen Harribel and I displayed a certain, ah, interest in you earlier on?"

 

"…I may have."

 

"In the coming months," he said.  "Soul Society has a need for a dedicated envoy traveling to and from Hueco Mundo to liaise with Queen Harribel.  And we agreed that you would fit the bill quite nicely."

 

Next to her, Ōmaeda began to choke on a prawn chip.

 

"An env— _Hueco Mundo_?" Suì-Fēng spluttered.  "What do you mean _liaise_ —?"

 

Putting one hand up to placate her, Kyōraku went on.  "We can discuss the precise nature of those visits in due time, for now I merely wished to inform you—"

 

"I have no say in this?" Suì-Fēng went on, and even as the words left her mouth, she felt a sudden stab of discomfort in the pit of her stomach, an involuntary reaction to a lifelong struggle of suppressing objections to superiors.

 

"Well…" Kyōraku trailed off, his formerly genial smile taking on a peculiar note of iciness.  "I would, of course, prefer not to force you.  But I confess I am somewhat puzzled by your reaction.  Queen Harribel was disinclined to keep an open line of communication between us until I mentioned your name."

 

"I— _What_?"

 

"When it was suggested to me that I offer your name up for consideration," Kyōraku went on.  "I assumed it meant you had built some sort of rapport with the Queen I was not aware of.  Naturally, I hoped you would thus welcome the assignment, and when the Queen herself agreed, I was confident you would accept."

 

" _Sugges_ — Suggested by _whom_?"

 

It was a redundant question, because deep down she already knew, she could see him as clear as day, obnoxious smirk stretching his lips wide, beneath the shade of his hat his eyes a glinting, quicksilver grey. 

 

The fickle, self-serving mercenary.

 

"Urahara Kisuke."

 

* * *

 

 

**SEPTEMBER 2 ND, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN**

 

"There ya go."

 

Reaching out for the glass of ice tea Urahara-san's assistant had set on the table, Ichigo looked up at the boy with a polite smile and a nod.  "Thanks."

 

"No problem.  Guess we'd better start stocking ice tea in the shop—" Jinta muttered, setting the second glass on the other side of the table.

 

"Thank you, Jinta," Urahara-san said in a pointed tone, waving his fan gently before his face. 

 

It occurred to Ichigo that this was the first time he had ever seen the ubiquitous fan be used for its actual purpose and not merely for show. 

 

The day was warm enough that Urahara-san had even forgone his signature hat, damp tendrils of hair draped over the strap of the eyepatch that seemed to have become a near-permanent accessory.  The only time Ichigo could recall seeing him without it as of late was when Urahara-san occasionally exchanged it for his newly minted artificial eye; the invention might've passed off as the real thing, if not for the fainter, but ever-present scars that now marked his mentor's face.  

 

"Not that I'm not _thrilled_ to be sent running off to the super market to buy gallon after gallon every week—"

 

" _Thank you_ , Jinta."

 

As the kid slipped the tray under his arm and walked away, still muttering, Ichigo found that the cool beverage did nothing to help alleviate the sudden, pervasive warmth that crawled up his cheeks.

 

"I've been bugging you too much lately," he said with a cringe, not meeting Urahara-san's eye. "I'm sorry—"

 

"Nonsense!" the older man said, furling and unfurling his fan with a flick of his wrist.  "Though in the spirit of honesty, I must confess I would prefer you visit just because you felt like making a social call and not because there's something wrong with the reiatsu dampeners.  It's a matter of scientific pride, you see."

 

He knew it was little more than a playful jab, but Ichigo felt himself growing redder all the same.  There was no denying he had spent an inordinate amount of time in the shop lately, under the pretense of having his –infuriatingly durable- reiatsu dampeners maintained. 

 

"There's nothing wrong with them," he admitted in a low mutter, still not making eye contact.

 

"Excellent! Then we can have our tea and catch up without any distractions."

 

Urahara-san's encouraging words were met with a rush of affection for his tact, for his willingness to so generously and patiently receive him time and time again as of late, never pressing, never giving him the kind of furtive looks everyone else did when they thought he wasn't looking, never making any demands of h—

 

Choking on his mouthful, Ichigo banged his chest and set the glass down, eyes watering as he looked up at Urahara-san with a sense of foreboding.  "Ugh, you _want_ something."

 

"Kurosaki-san, you wound me.  Have I displayed anything other than hospitality?  Have I extended anything but a hand of friendship these past—?"

 

"Oh gods, you _really_ want something."

 

"Nothing other than your company, I _assure_ you."

 

There was a beat, in which Ichigo quietly sipped his tea while staring at Urahara-san through squinted eyes, and trying very, _very_ hard not to call bullshit on the old man.

 

Entirely unfazed by his intense gaze, Urahara-san continued to smile pleasantly.  "So… How is school?"

 

"Fine."

 

"Your father and sisters?  All faring well, I hope?"

 

"Fine."

 

"Your classmates?  Sado-san, Inoue-san, Ishida-san?"

 

"All fine."

 

"Was there perhaps something _you_ wished to discuss?"

 

"Fi— Er… No.  No, I'm…"

 

Urahara-san's smirk grew broader.  "Fine?"

 

 _Touché._   "I guess," Ichigo said with a shrug.

 

The damned thing had become his automatic response to nearly every question as of late, to the point that it no longer resembled an actual word.   Instead, it was now something akin to a mantra, the incantation of a warding spell he would blurt out to circumvent any follow-up questions.  Urahara-san wasn't the first to ask, nor would he be the last.

 

And yet, there was an infuriating, and simultaneously gratifying quality about the way Urahara-san dealt with his student's pricklier disposition as of late, one that kept Ichigo returning to the shōten with what could only be described as obsessive obstinacy.  The evasive maneuvers he employed in dodging the doleful, beseeching looks of his peers and family functioned as much as a shield as they did a coping mechanism.  In their concerned eyes he saw the clear outlines of emotions that only flickered within him fleetingly, half-formed, vanishing before they ever reached maturity.  And much like a vampire, he would feed off of these rich morsels in a desperate attempt to access emotion vicariously.

 

Urahara-san afforded him no such pleasure. 

 

Contrary to Ishida, whose more confrontational attitude seemed to ignite reactions within him that lingered just a touch longer, the shopkeeper's easy-going attitude both frustrated and made Ichigo feel at ease.  While Ichigo would never explicitly be called upon to answer for his behavior, Urahara-san's questions and seemingly offhand statements were delivered with the pinpoint accuracy of a homing missile: all the good intentions of a friend, conveyed in the nondescript tone of someone discussing a subject as mundane as the weather.

 

No bells, no whistles.  No visible concern to leech upon. 

 

It made Ichigo _furious_.

 

"And your cousins?  Have you heard from them?" Urahara-san asked.

 

_Case in point._

 

Ichigo set the glass down very slowly, his eyes boring into Urahara-san's.  There was no misreading the cool, grey stare as anything but the challenge it was.  "You knew.  This whole time," he said, a little taken aback to hear the slight undercurrent of betrayal coloring his tone when had tried his best to restrain it.

 

To his credit, Urahara-san offered no transparent lies, nor did her avoid the question.  "I did."

 

"Is there a point in asking why you never said anything?

 

"I rather…" Urahara-san trailed off, snapping his fan shut and fiddling with it as he paused to choose his words carefully.  "Felt that was your father's story to tell."

 

Excuse or no, Ichigo couldn't deny it was a fair point.  His relationship to the Shibas was not something he should've expected Urahara-san to reveal or discuss, not until his own father had taken the plunge first.  "I haven't spoken to them," Ichigo said, propping his elbow against the table and resting his cheek against his fist.  "Probably… probably should."

 

"Do you want to?"

 

With some measure of reluctance, Ichigo nodded.  As confounding as the situation was with his family tree, he knew he both needed and wanted to clear the air sooner or later.  "What does that… even mean?  Being nobility in Soul Society?  The Shibas are nobles, right?"

 

"Former nobility," Urahara-san said.  "But still highly respected in certain circles.  And influential."

 

"So am I, like… their heir or something?"  Even as he spoke the words, Ichigo mentally cringed at both the infantile tone and the question itself, one that was better directed at someone like Yoruichi-san.  He had grown so used to Urahara-san having all the answers that it felt natural to seek his counsel, whatever the subject may be.

 

To his surprise, however, he answered before Ichigo had time to recant the question, and did so with the indisputable authority of someone with personal experience on the matter.

 

"Hmmm, that is debatable," he said, tapping his fan against his chin as his eyes rolled toward the ceiling.  "With your father being the last head of the Clan while the Shibas still enjoyed their former status, you would normally be one of the top contenders for the title," he said.  "But Clan politics and lines of succession are rarely that simple.  Of course, this only applies to Clans that put any weight into such matters.  I don't believe Kūkaku-san and Ganju-san are in any hurry to become reacquainted with High Society."

 

"You called them by their first names," Ichigo said, voicing his disbelief out loud.

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Ganju and Kūkaku.  You used their names.  I thought it was Yoruichi-san who knew them," Ichigo said.  "Guess… guess I should've realized you would, too."

 

"I do know them, yes," Urahara-san said.  "Ganju-san less so.  But I was on good terms with his sister back in the day.  And their brother Kaien."

 

Ichigo's astonishment at the revelation that Urahara-san knew more about the world of nobility than he had previously suspected was overtaken by a second bombshell: the mention of Shiba Kaien's name.  For a man he had never, nor would he ever meet, whose name and past Ichigo had only ever heard in brief, cryptic exchanges, Shiba Kaien cast a shadow that extended far.  Far enough to steer the conversation into a tangent Ichigo had been reluctant to address even in the safety of solitary musings.

 

"The one who…?  Rukia's former…?"

 

"Yes."

 

Before he could stop himself, Ichigo asked the question he hadn't even realized had been brewing in his chest for years now.  "What was he like?"

 

"Kind.  Very pleasant.  Good sense of humor.  Talented, intelligent…" Urahara-san said, voice trailing off.  "I must admit it's Yoruichi-san who knew him far better; I may have oversold the strength of my relationship to him.  You could always ask her when she returns, if you're curious.  Or… you could go directly to the source."

 

The suggestion was met with a snort and a grin.  "If Kūkaku hasn't already moved."

 

Urahara-san chuckled at that.  "I have her current address and number if you want it," he said.  "But if you'd like to reach Ganju-san, you should ask her for his address; I hear he can be found gallivanting with the former Fullbringers most of the time."

 

"Yeah, I… I never really got a chance to thank them— I guess… It might be nice to reach out…"

 

Urahara-san jumped on this offhand suggestion with suspicious, and ultimately predictable eagerness.  "A capital idea!  And while you're at it—"

 

Slamming a hand against the table, Ichigo half-rose off his seat to point an accusatory finger at the shopkeeper.  "I _KNEW_ IT!"

 

"I haven't even—"

 

"What do you want?" Ichigo said, plopping back onto the pillow, arms folded before his chest.

 

With a gentle sigh, Urahara-san conceded and dropped the act.  "Nothing you're not willing to do.  I merely require a messenger."

 

"To the Fullbringers?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Why didn't you give your message to Yoruichi-san?" Ichigo asked.

 

"Because if past failed attempts to make contact are any indication, they wouldn't trust her or anyone they don't already know well enough," Urahara-san said.  "But if you're unwilling to visit Soul Society, I can assign this to someone else."

 

A curious sensation gripped Ichigo's insides at the prospect of being passed over for the opportunity.  "Didn't say I was unwilling…" he muttered, eyes drawn to his lap.

 

"I'm glad to hear it," Urahara-san said.  "Earlier attempts to establish contact have been unsuccessful so far."

 

Still unable to make eye-contact, and feeling more than a little foolish for his knee-jerk reaction, Ichigo hurried to dispel any assumption that his mind was made up.  "I don't even know if… when…"

 

"That's quite all right, I'm in no hurry.  Whenever you make your decision about whether you'd like to visit Soul Society again, we can revisit this matter."

 

"I do," Ichigo said, looking up.  "I want to… visit.  I just— There are… things to consider."

 

Urahara-san nodded, as though in understanding; much to Ichigo's relief –and barely acknowledged disappointment- any further discussion of visiting Soul Society was summarily dropped.  In an attempt to keep the conversation alive and distract himself from any aforementioned _things to consider_ , Ichigo allowed his gaze to fall upon Urahara-san's eyepatch once more.

 

With a pang of guilt, he realized that for every single one of his latest visits to the store, he hadn't once expressed interest in Urahara-san's affairs.  At least not vocally.  In private, he had mulled over the subject often, but had no words to address it out loud, feeling like the attempt would be akin to trying to speak a language he had never been taught.

 

"How have… how have _you_ been?" Ichigo said, pointing vaguely toward the object of his scrutiny.  "With the, uh… the whole thing."

 

Mentally cursing his own ineloquence, Ichigo was immediately –and painfully- reminded that learning a foreign language had never been his forte.

 

Urahara-san took his clumsy attempt in stride, but was still unable to resist the briefest of taunts.  "Fine," he said, lips stretching out into a grin.

 

Rolling his eyes at him, Ichigo returned the grin.  "Yeah, I've noticed.  It's just— You seem… A little… _too_ okay with it."

 

The irony of that statement didn't escape Urahara-san, either.  And as Ichigo had come to expect from his mentor, the response was delivered with the familiar pinpoint accuracy and explosive power: 

 

"Ah, well… You know what they say," Urahara-san said, twirling the folded fan between his fingers with an elegant idleness that could only be deliberate.  "Grief takes many forms.  Including, most disturbingly, the absence of grief."

 

* * *

 

 

**SEPTEMBER 7 TH, 2003 A.D., KUCHIKI MANOR, SEIREITEI, SOUL SOCIETY**

 

As far as Yoruichi was concerned, sweet senbei were an affront to everything that was good and wholesome about this world.  Savory was the way to go when it came to snacks, but lately, she had alarmingly found herself growing a sweet tooth she had never before possessed.

 

Like with most things in her life, this was totally Kisuke's fault.

 

"You are your father's spawn," she muttered thickly to her flat belly as she munched on a cracker and continued perusing the book in her hand, spraying the waxy, ancient-looking pages with crumbs.  _Ooops_.

 

Giving the book a vigorous shake to get rid of incriminating evidence of her presence, she reached into her travel pouch for another cracker. 

 

On top of affecting her tastebuds for the worse, the little tadpole – _Mother of the year award, right here-_ had taken to making her mutter to herself lately.  Or rather, to _it_.  Which she realized wasn't the most maternal of way to refer to one's fetus, but she didn't have the faintest idea what –if anything- to call it.  She did, however, have the sneaking suspicion it was a boy.  She may or may not have taken a quick glance in one of the more out-of-place tomes in the library, an anatomy book that stated that boys naturally drew upon more of the body's resources while in the womb.  A daughter would've understood her pain, eased up on the nausea and constant exhaustion.

 

No, this here was a _man_ , sapping the life out of her from Day One.

 

The fact that she had begun to think of _it_ in terms of possible daughter or possible son was not doing wonders for her concentration, either.  **_Focus_** _.  Back to work._

 

The book in question was a ponderous, tedious volume, much like everything else in the Kuchiki Library, which specialized in genealogical charts and history books.  But for all their boasts of being the Keepers of History, they, too, seemed to have no clue how the original distribution of the parts of the Soul King might've taken place.  There was no mention of Mimihagi, even, much less of the shrine where the Right Hand's essence had been hidden for eons.

 

At every turn, the trail of available information seemed to turn cold _just_ as the story got interesting, and Yoruichi was beginning to share Kisuke's frustration.  The Kuchiki archives were just as bafflingly in the dark as the Mimihagi priests had been, having no answers for any of the important questions.  Namely, the location of the other two shrines, and the puzzling absence of so much as a _mention_ to the origins of the two parts that had found their way into the Quincy camp at some indeterminable point in the past.  

 

It was beginning to look as though her suspicion was correct: perhaps there had been no theft, after all.

 

"Yoruichi-san?"

 

Freezing on the spot, mouth hanging slack over a cracker, she looked up, coming face-to-face with none other than Rukia. 

 

Wearing her shihakushō and an utterly bemused expression, it looked as though she had just returned from work.  "Were you…?  Are you see to see nii-sama?" Rukia asked.

 

"Er… Your brother doesn't exactly know I'm here," Yoruichi said.  "But he _did_ say the clan's archives were at our disposal so…"

 

Shoulders relaxing, Rukia approached her and crouched down, glancing at the many scattered volumes surrounding Yoruichi on the floor.  "Oh, you're doing research for Urahara?"

 

"Yup.  That okay with you?"

 

"Yes, of course.  Is there anything I can do to help?"

 

"Not really," Yoruichi said, plopping the cracker into her mouth, looking somewhat helplessly at the bulking bookcases that rose tall around her.  "I figured it was a long shot anyway, but I wanted to check, just in case."

 

Rukia took a seat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees.  "Is this… about Captain Ukitake?" 

 

Yoruichi held her tongue, unsure of how much she was at liberty to say.  Ukitake's condition and possible future were on a need-to-know basis for the time being, and though she thought Rukia deserved the right to know, she wasn't certain how the girl would take the news.  Perhaps it wasn't prudent to upset her at a time when she was already under a great deal of pressure.

 

"I heard rumors," Rukia said, staring at her knees.  "And everyone's just— I don't really know what to believe anymore.  Everything feels so unresolved, that… _thing_ is still barricaded right in the middle of the debris… Guess you're not allowed to talk about it?"

 

"Sorry, kiddo," Yoruichi said, placing her snack pouch on the floor between them.  "Like you said; everything's still in flux, so—"

 

"That's okay," Rukia said, plucking a cracker out of the bag and toying with it between her slim fingers.  "I've seen you around a lot lately.  Been a while since you've been back to Karakura?"

 

"It's been back and forth for a while, yeah.  Mostly… forth these days.  But it hasn't been too long." 

 

Nodding, Rukia nibbled on the rim of the cracker absently, avoiding her gaze.  "Everyone doing okay?  Back… back home?"

 

 _…I hate it when Kisuke is right._   "Asking about anyone in particular?" Yoruichi said, smirking.  

 

With an exaggerated shake of her head, Rukia continued to fake nonchalance –badly at that- and kept on nibbling on the cracker, still resolutely not meeting her eye.

 

 _Children,_ Yoruichi thought with a deep-sated, internal sigh. _Here she's got a veritable hunk of a man mooning after her, and she's going for the kid who had to be forced to notice Inoue's cleavage.  They really do deserve each other._  

 

"Just making conversation," Rukia said.  "These taste kind of familiar, by the way—"

 

"Rukia?  Are you in there?"

 

Yoruichi only had a second's warning, but knew it was futile to get into a scramble.  Even her own legendary speed wouldn't have bought her enough time to put every tome back in its place and swipe away the crumb-littered floor.

 

Byakuya entered into her field of vision, turning the corner and making his way down the aisle she and Rukia were occupying, and Yoruichi could've sworn she'd never before seen him shift expressions so fast.

 

"What are you doing h— _What is she doing here_?"  It was clear he was making an effort not to fling any accusations Rukia's way, but he was making zero effort masking his displeasure all the same.

 

"Nice to see you, too, Byakuya-bō," Yoruichi said.  She couldn't help it; she gave him a girlish, dainty little wave, to boot.

 

Striding over to them in heavy, thundering footsteps, Byakuya stared at Rukia in stunned disbelief, as though she had betrayed him in some deep, immeasurable way. 

 

"Oh, keep your panties on," Yoruichi said, before Rukia could launch into an excuse to spare her from any further outbursts.  "She didn't let me in, I… let myself in."

 

The revelation didn't seem to surprise him one bit, though the verbal confirmation set his eyes ablaze.  "So you _broke_ into my ancestral home, bold as brass, thinking you could just—" Scowling, his gaze travelled down the length of her torso and came to focus down below.  "What are you sitting on?"

 

Leaning to the side to lift one cheek slightly, Yoruichi glanced at the title half-obscured by her ass.  "History of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Kuchiki—" She lifted the other cheek.  "–third volume."

 

" ** _OUT_**!"

 

"Nii-sama!"

 

"No, Rukia, this I cannot allow—"

 

"Yoruichi-san needs our help—"

 

"Then she can _ask_ for it," Byakuya said, turning to glare at the offending party.  "Like any civilized, sane person would've done."

 

Yoruichi supposed she wasn't making things any easier for herself by refusing to sit elsewhere, but in her defense, her lower back really had been killing her since morning.  Still, Byakuya's rant felt a little over-dramatic, as that boy always had been, not to mention completely untruthful.  "To which you would've said…?"

 

"No, of course," he said, not missing a beat, as if the mere suggestion that he would do otherwise offended him deeply.  Which it probably did.

 

"My point exactly," Yoruichi said

 

Nostrils flaring, Byakuya took in a deep, calming breath and said, in as dignified a voice as he could muster, "I have graciously provided Lieutenant Ise with all the materials Urahara Kisuke asked for.  If there is need for more, he can make a formal request.  _Himself_."

 

"But isn't my way quicker?  No muss, no fuss."

 

"I can see plenty of _muss_ from right here," Byakuya said, his lip curling.  And even though she knew he was referring to the mess of books and crumbs littering the otherwise pristine floor, his line of sight made it impossible to resist teasing him.

 

"You an upskirt kind of man, Byakuya-bō?" she said, tugging at the hem of her short, form-fitting dress.  "I never would've guessed—"

 

The rest of her sentence never came into being, as Byakuya proceeded to march forward, looking as though he had every intention of physically kicking her out.  Recognizing her cue to stop piling on the taunts –amusing though it might be- Yoruichi grabbed the snack bag and scurried on her feet, diving right under Byakuya's arm to slip past him.

 

"ARE THOSE MY _PERSONAL_ COOK'S SENBEI YOU'RE SCARFING DOWN?"

 

"Rukia, thanks for the company!" Yoruichi said, waving at the girl with a flourish while the vein on Byakuya's temple threatened to pop.  "Byakuya-bō, you're way too pretty to get scowl lines so young; turn that frown upside-do—"

 

"Why don't I show Yoruichi-san to the door?" Rukia said in one breath, her voice loud enough to drown out any of Byakuya's protests as she moved between them. 

 

To her immense surprise, Byakuya didn't make a dive for the senbei, not even when she slipped one out of the pouch as ostentatiously as she could, making constant eye-contact over her shoulder.  The last thing she saw before Rukia gently ushered her around the corner was Byakuya's twitching eyebrow, which really, served as a rather satisfactory end to an otherwise fruitless, uneventful day.

 

"You can contact me directly for any future material you may need," Rukia told her in a quiet, almost conspiratorial voice.

 

Yoruichi chose not to voice the thought that breaking into the Kuchiki estate was half the appeal of this part of research.  Instead, she nodded at Rukia before popping the senbei into her waiting mouth.

 

In the great hall, they came across Renji, who seemed to be biding the time somewhat impatiently, examining an elaborate vase.

 

"So I guess _no-one_ is running the squad today?  Then again, if nii-sama is unavailable, that might be preferable," Rukia said, smirking.

 

Renji looked up in mild surprise, but recovered quickly.  "Ho-ho.  I just came here with the Captain to pick up some documents; then it's back to the barracks.  Hey, Yoruichi-san," he said, pausing for a second before coming to the visible realization that her presence there was not exactly a common occurrence.  "Uh, did I just hear—?"

 

Rukia dropped her voice, giving a sideways glance toward the direction of the library.  "Do your best to calm him down, won't you?" she said.

 

Renji didn't seem to share his friend's confidence that he held the power to pull this off, but he nodded all the same, an almost imperceptible flush on his cheeks at the mere notion of the difficult task ahead.  Yoruichi privately agreed, voicing as much to Rukia once they were making their way down the hallway leading to the exit.

 

"Renji's actually gotten pretty good at reading nii-sama's moods," Rukia said in a tone that betrayed she, too, was surprised by the turn of events.  "I guess two years of daily interaction will do that."

 

"Has he?" Yoruichi said, quirking one eyebrow.

 

She could scarcely picture spending two _hours_ with Byakuya without sending him into a fit of rage, even inadvertently.  More to the point, from what little she had picked up on the relationship between Byakuya and his Lieutenant two years ago, it had seemed there was a great deal of tension to resolve.  Especially given the boy's insatiable desire to surpass his superior.

 

A fleeting, half-formed thought occurred to her then, Rukia's words and Renji's subtle blush coming to mind under a different light, and she nearly lost her footing at the notion that perhaps she had bet on Renji mooning after the wrong Kuchiki after all.

 

_…Damn.  Go, Byakuya-bō._

 

"I gotta admit," Yoruichi said.  "Your brother _does_ seem more mellow these days.  Then again, I only have his hormonal teenage self to compare him to."

 

"Oh, he _can't_ have been that bad," she said, smiling at her.  "I mean, I've heard stories, but—"

 

"They're all true," Yoruichi said, munching on another cracker.  "I remember I took him to the Rukongai one time to train and he looked so personally _offended_."

 

Rukia laughed.  "Well, he must've gotten used to it at _some_ point," she said.  "Probably around the time he met my sister."

 

"They met in the Rukongai?  How come?"

 

For a moment, Yoruichi feared Rukia may have misunderstood her, but the younger girl's frown didn't seem to be one of offense, but rather confusion.  "That's where my sister lived."

 

"Your sister was a _commoner_?" Yoruichi said.  "I… had no idea."

 

She had been aware of Rukia's existence as a member of the Kuchiki clan for a few decades now, but somewhere along the way, the information that Hisana herself had been a commoner had somehow never reached Yoruichi.  For the longest time, she had assumed Rukia's reported resemblance to her sister and abandonment had meant that Rukia had been the product of a scandal that had been quickly hushed up and not.  The revelation that Hisana herself had been a commoner did make a lot more sense, but the notion that Byakuya would've ever married so beneath him was even more outlandish to Yoruichi than the idea of Rukia being secretly Hisana's daughter.

 

"We lived in the Rukongai together for a while—I don't remember any of it.  And she asked nii-sama to look for me shortly before her passing," Rukia said.

 

Mouth still agape, Yoruichi shook her head.  "I'm sorry, I just… your brother marrying a non-noble is seriously throwing me," she said.

 

As she had hoped, Rukia took no offense; Yoruichi's own life choices should've made it perfectly clear to everyone where she stood on the issue of the class divide.  And thankfully, the girl merely shrugged, a gentle smile on her lips.

 

"People change," she said.  "I asked nii-sama about it myself a year ago.  He told me that making the choice was not easy, but after meeting my sister, he decided that when it came to marriage, he was determined to choose his own spouse.  He said that he believed having someone by his side who complemented and understood him would make all the difference in the world."  Rukia's cheeks flushed gently as she recalled her brother's words, a beatific smile on her face, like she were unearthing one of her most treasured memories.  "Make him a better leader.  A better _person_.  And that no-one knew who that someone was better than he di— Yoruichi-san?"

 

Rukia's words suddenly adopted a strange, muted quality, as though they were coming from far away.  Yoruichi, now rooted on the spot, stared at the girl, unseeing.  "He— Your brother said this?  Those are _his_ words you're quoting?  His _exact_ words?"

 

"I— Yes.  Nearly verbatim, I think," Rukia said, the dainty blush on her cheeks turning redder.  "I… sort of… memorized them.  They, uh… made an impression."

 

"Yeah, I… they're… they're nice words…"

 

"You're not going to tease nii-sama about this, are you?" Rukia said, half in jest, half in seriousness.  "Because I only—"

 

With a sharp inhale and a quick jerk of her head, Yoruichi willed herself to return to reality in full, forcing a smile on her lips.  "Of course not; don't worry, my lips are sealed," she said.  "And sorry about spacing out, I just realized I forgot to check up on something at the SRDI."  

 

Rukia still looked unconvinced of Yoruichi's promise as the two said their goodbyes at the gate, but for the first time in her life, she found that she was entirely unwilling to tease Byakuya.

 

And as her hand irresistibly snaked down to her stomach, Yoruichi swore she would never reveal to Rukia that Byakuya's words were, in fact, borrowed.  That they had first been spoken a _long_ time ago, by a young woman who had wrestled with her own feelings for countless decades; a woman certain that whatever little wisdom she possessed would fall on deaf ears when directed at her ill-tempered teenage student, who thought little of her as it was.

 

But in a moment of genuine concern, she had tried.

 

And to her immense surprise, he had _listened_.

 

* * *

 

 

**SEPTEMBER 10 TH, 2003 A.D., URAHARA SHOP, KARAKURA TOWN, JAPAN**

 

"So… unless you have any new ideas, any new directions worth exploring, that's about as much intel as I can provide on my end."

 

Kisuke stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head as he lay on the futon, listening to Yoruichi's brief oral report of her latest findings in Soul Society.  In all honesty, he hadn't expected to hear anything different, but exhausting their most solid source of information before moving on to murkier waters had seemed like a prudent strategy.

 

"No, I think we're done on the Mimihagi front," he said.  "For the time being, that is."

 

Taking a seat on the windowsill, Yoruichi palmed the brush in her hands.  "You're not surprised."

 

"Well, I… I've shared my theory with you."

 

"Bet you're feeling pretty smug right about now," she said, smirking.

 

Kisuke responded with a smirk of his own, taking in the sight of her in the thin, overlarge yukata, her hair still damp from her bath.  Though they'd spoken on the phone regularly, this was the first he was seeing of her in person ever since the revelation about her condition.  Keeping himself from bringing up the subject, even in passing, had arguably been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.  But it had still hung between them in every conversation, like a specter, even with an entire dimension separating them.

 

He'd tried not to read too much into it, but having her back, speaking and acting as though not a single thing had changed was both a blessing and a curse.  For one of the few times in his long life, in _their_ shared life, he didn't have a single clue as to what she might be thinking, about whether she'd made a decision yet.

 

Or what that decision might be.

 

And yet, despite the torture of being in the dark, he couldn't help but smile at the mere fact that she was there, in their room, the summer breeze carrying the scent of her over to him in fragrant wafts.  His intense scrutiny hadn't escaped her notice, either, and instead of shying away from it, she seemed to be basking in it instead, making a show out of dabbing her trademark jasmine oil on her scalp and running the brush through her hair leisurely.   

 

It occurred to him at that point that he hadn't kissed her once she'd arrived, and had a mind to remedy that as soon as possible, but Yoruichi didn't seem to be done talking business.

 

"So what's the next step?" she asked.

 

Letting out a sigh, Kisuke toyed absently with the soft, careworn belt of his own yukata.  "Well, I guess there's no helping it anymore."

 

Yoruichi's eyes widened at the sound of his words.  "You're not—?"

 

"—I guess we have to start exploring the Quincy angle."

 

In the silent beat that followed, Yoruichi stared at him as though she were unsure whether to laugh or scream.  Eventually, she settled on the former.  "You will actually talk about this to the guy we buy okonomiyaki from before you deign to visit my father, won't you?"

 

That, Kisuke felt, was a blow below the belt.  Daichi gave _excellent_ advice. 

 

"Now, now, I'm only trying to be efficient," he said, in a bare-faced lie she clearly had no trouble discerning.  "Since I won't be returning to Soul Society until next week, I figured I'd capitalize on the opportunity to gather as much information as possible before I seek out your father's counsel."

 

"Mmmm-hm.  _Or_ you're just prolonging the inevitable."

 

Kisuke chose not to dignify her perfectly astute observation with a response, watching as she pushed herself off the windowsill and approached the futon, toying with the brush in her hand.  

 

"I hope you weren't thinking I'd be joining you," she said, shooting him a warning look as she dropped the brush onto the nightstand and took a seat next to him.  "I'm pretty certain my mother can _smell_ these things from miles away and I'm not setting foot in that place until October."

 

"October?  What's happening on Oct—?" Kisuke began, but as the words came out, he did the mental math, and came to the heart-stopping realization: October marked the end of the first trimester.  Sitting up on the futon at once, his mouth flopped about soundlessly for a few seconds before he could speak.  "Are you saying—?"

 

"I will _never_ marry you."

 

If there was a visual equivalent of a record scratch, Kisuke was certain it would look very much like pathetic manner in which he deflated within milliseconds of hearing her response.

 

Perhaps realizing she had been too brusque, Yoruichi hurried to add.  "Not because of _you_.  It's the principle of the thing."

 

"……All right."

 

Her eyes softened, but she severed eye-contact when she spoke next, color rising on her cheeks.  "If I ever did marry someone… it would be you.  But I don't want to.  I want to do this my way.  _Our_ way."

 

As someone who had been introduced to the concept of marriage through the lens of future responsibility alone, Yoruichi had always displayed a violently negative reaction to its mere mention.  The pressure to choose one of her many suitors, to further the Shihōin line, had always weighed heavily on her.  And the fact alone that she was admitting this to him, that she had finally managed to see the notion of a family as something separate from the looming threat it had once been, meant more to him than any arbitrary ceremony ever could.

 

He had witnessed the change in her long ago from the small, hesitant steps she'd taken in bonding with Ururu and Jinta, in reconnecting with Yūshirō, but he hadn't dared hope for more.  Not until now. 

 

"So... are we… doing this?"

 

Yoruichi met his eyes again, and his heart skipped a beat when her lips twitched upward just the tiniest bit.  "I won't be a housewife and it's not… it won't be— it'll be _different_.  But…  I'm committed to this.  Fully.  And you—"

 

"Am yours.  Always."

 

The tentative grin turned broader as she rolled her eyes at him, the flush in her cheeks now more pronounced than ever.  "It's corny crap like this that led to me getting knocked up in the first place."

 

And in that moment her smile was so radiant that he could not help but respond in kind, cradling her face in his hands, one last, tiny morsel of doubt lingering in his chest.  "Are you sure?  _Absolutely_ —?"

 

"Yes," Yoruichi said, her smile unwavering. 

 

Yet as he pulled her in, she wrapped her hands around his wrists and held herself at bay.

 

"Though I'm warning you right now," she said.  "I've been pretty damn unimpressed by this whole process so far; everyone keeps going on about getting to stuff your face while you're pregnant, but it hasn't been happening yet and I am _not_ happy about it.  And _you_ … are gonna have to deal with all… this," she said, gesturing vaguely at herself.

 

He nodded, fairly certain that nothing she could say or do right now would ever wipe the smile off his face.  "All right."

 

"And… Kisuke?" As she pressed her fingers against his lips, her own smile became fractured, a flicker of fear clouding her eyes.  "Try not to… not to get _too_ excited about this, okay?  Isane said my family history probably won't be an issue, but still…" She tried to sound casual, but the brief, pained grimace in her expression spoke volumes of how much the idea tormented her.  "There's always a possibility that it might not… take."

 

Slipping her hands into his, Kisuke met her gaze earnestly.  "Promise you won't worry about it too much?" There was a pause, Yoruichi's breath hitching in her throat, but she nodded.  "Then I promise I won't get _too_ excited," he said, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

 

When he saw it mirrored in Yoruichi's face, he knew she had finally relieved herself of everything that weighed heavily in her chest.  "Liar."

 

"I'm allowed to be a _little_ happy about it, aren't I?" he said, tucking one curled finger under her chin.  "And for the record… so are you."

 

This time around, he never even got the chance to make the first move.  Yoruichi closed the distance herself, reaching out to cup his jaw and pulled him to her, slanting her lips against his.  

 

And for the first time in months, the notion that there was now one more person to protect, one more person he could not afford to disappoint, no longer felt like a burden, but was pure, unadulterated joy.

 

* * *

 

 

**SEPTEMBER 16 TH, 2003 A.D., KARAKURA TOWN OUTSKIRTS, JAPAN**

 

"I _said_ I was sorry."

 

"…no consideration whatsoever.  If you cannot be bothered to take this seriously, then I might as well stop wasting my time—"

 

"Oh my _god_ it was a mistake.  LET. IT. _GO_."

 

"—tutoring you and instead focus on my own rev—"

 

"You know what?  Fine.  Suit yourself.  Go study alone, see if I care."

 

"Wha—?! Kurosaki!  We already spent half an hour in that bus—"

 

"During which you wouldn't shut the hell up—"

 

"All right, _all right_!  It's forgotten.  I won't say another word.  Can we just…?"

 

"Fine.  Lead the way."

 

With a sigh, Uryū straightened up the strap of his messenger bag and crossed the street, motioning at Kurosaki to follow him.  The walk from the bus station to his – _Ryūken's; **Ryūken's**_ \- home was a short one, but he had the sneaking suspicion it was bound to feel twice as long while he struggled to keep his tongue in check.

 

Next to him, Kurosaki dragged his feet along, a decided slump on his shoulders, hands tucked into his pockets.  Brief argument aside, his mood appeared to be neither sourer or in any way improved than it had been earlier in the day. 

 

As with everything else lately, their spat didn't seem to have affected him one bit.  Day in and day out, Kurosaki would do little more than go through the motions, his temperament hitting the occasional high spike, only to drop back down at once, like a rubber band bouncing back to assume its former shape.  Uryū had to wonder if it was even possible to push him to a breaking point anymore.

 

Kurosaki's attitude wasn't exactly a surprise.  For what little time they'd been on amiable terms, this was thrice now that Uryū had witnessed him close in on himself and maintain only the barest appearance of coping. 

 

"Don't see why you're making a fuss anyway," Kurosaki muttered, breaking the silence.

 

"What?" Uryū said, turning to him.     

 

"Studying," Kurosaki said, kicking a stray rock out of his path.  "You never offered to tutor me before.  And it's not like we've ever been in any sort of competition: you've always been top of the class, I've made the top twenty, fifteen occasionally.  Aren't Inoue and Kunieda your _actual_ competition?"

 

"This isn't about _competition_ —"

 

"Then what _is_ it about?"

 

Uryū's steps faltered as Kurosaki stared him down with a defiant expression.  The confronting question was one Uryū had hoped would've gone unacknowledged; making sense of his reasons even to his own self was hard enough, but having to articulate them out loud under Kurosaki's persistent stare was nigh impossible.

 

"What do you _mean_ what's it about?" Uryū said, stalling for time to collect his thoughts.  "It's… I just… You've been slacking off!"

 

Kurosaki didn't bother denying this.  "So?  What's it to you?"

 

"I…"

 

Try as he might to find fault with it, it was a fair question.  Kurosaki's paltry attempts to keep up with schoolwork were hurting no-one but himself.  He wasn't actively trying to get any of his friends to skive off, he wasn't trying to tempt them away from studying, he was simply… indifferent.

 

If he were being entirely honest with himself, this, more than anything was what had prompted Uryū into action.  Anger, frustration, despondence… they were all feelings he would've understood and sympathized with, much like he had in the aftermath of the Winter War.  But watching someone like Kurosaki simply give up…

 

_You promised me.  You promised me we were going to **live**.  This isn't living; this is barely existing._

 

"Well… we _do_ openly associate," Uryū said, pushing his glasses up his nose and letting his gaze drop to the side.  "And Professor Ochi relies on me to set a good example.  When you slack off, it also reflects badly on me."  Bolstered by the ease with which the lie tumbled out of his mouth, Uryū returned Kurosaki's defiant gaze unflinchingly.  "And I won't have it."

 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kurosaki quipped, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.  "Have I been sabotaging your efforts to pursue a career you had previously sworn off?"

 

Uryū might've taken pleasure in seeing Kurosaki openly engage him instead of shrugging off the conversation as unimportant, if only the latter wasn't in such a confrontational mood.  Today seemed to be a day of acknowledging uncomfortable truths, and he could tell Kurosaki had been saving this comment for such a day, indeed.

 

"I never claimed I didn't always plan on attending university—"

 

"That's not what I'm talking about," Kurosaki said, swatting away the poor attempt at derailing the conversation with ease.  "You telling me if I go through your school bag right now there won't be any brochures of Tokyo Medical University lying around?"

 

"You've been going through—?"

 

"Didn't have to.  The other day when you dropped your bag, I caught a glimpse of them right before you tried to shove it all back in."

 

"…So?  What's it to you?"

 

Even momentarily, Kurosaki seemed to be taken aback at having his own words thrown back at him.  The silence that followed was a long one.  Uryū didn't avert his eyes from Kurosaki's burning gaze, certain that he, too, was barely holding back every retort that was going through his mind.  If he had expected Kurosaki to take the bait, however, he was dead wrong.

 

With a grunt, Kurosaki gripped the strap of his school bag and yanked it up, continuing down the road without another word.  It took Uryū a couple of seconds to realize he wasn't marching away, but rather toward the undetermined path he'd set them on, and he quickly followed, teeth grinding together in an effort to keep his mouth shut.

 

"How far—?"

 

"Almost there."

 

"Mmm."

 

Kurosaki really did have the singular talent of leaving him feeling like an exposed nerve, Uryū mused as he put one foot after the other.  Part of him was already wishing he'd let go and tell Kurosaki everything he'd been _really_ thinking about; if he had, perhaps he wouldn't feel like his patience was being tried with every clop of Kurosaki's feet and his inordinately loud breathing.

 

"Your apartment's still being fumigated, then?" Kurosaki muttered.

 

"Yes."

 

"For _three_ weeks now?"

 

"…… _Yes_."

 

" _That's_ convenient."

 

"What are you sa—?"

 

"I'm _saying_ that this whole change of heart started when you went back to living with your dad.  And it's great that you're back to talking and all, but you're letting him get to you!"

 

" _Get_ to me?"

 

"Yes, _get_ to you.  You _said_ you didn't want to be a doctor—"

 

"I'm not allowed to change my mind?"

 

"Ha!  So you _have_ changed—"

 

"I _never_ said that, but the fact that you assume I would ever allow my—"

 

"Dad?"

 

"Yes, my father, you _just_ said so only seconds ago—"

 

"No, it's… _my_ dad."

 

"I— What?"

 

Still wearing an expression appropriate to having been smacked over the head, Kurosaki pointed straight behind Uryū.  "Is that your dad's place?"

 

Turning around, Uryū was startled to see his father's home, indeed.  In between their argument, he hadn't even realized they'd covered the distance so quickly.  "Er, yes.  Why are you—?"

 

"That's my dad's car right next to that Mercedes."

 

Surely enough, there was a second car parked out front right next to Ryūken's glossy black sedan.  Uryū hadn't paid it any mind upon first glance, but a second look revealed it to be a familiar car, indeed.  One he had seen parked outside the Kurosaki residence often enough.

 

The earlier tension forgotten at once, the two boys shared an identical look of utter confusion, an undercurrent of terror evident in Kurosaki's brown eyes that Uryū knew must also be present in his.  Without another word, they seemed to have reached both the same conclusion and a silent agreement to sprint up to the entrance, Uryū digging into his pocket for his keys.    

 

As soon as he unlocked the door, Kurosaki burst in, not even bothering to remove his shoes, and made for the living room.  Slamming the door shut, Uryū followed on his heels, bumping straight into Kurosaki's back when he came to an abrupt halt.

 

"Dad?  _Urahara-san_?"

 

Kurosaki's voice was only the last in a series of noises that must've alerted the adults to their presence.  Sitting imperiously on his favourite armchair, Ryūken wore an expression of only mild surprise; his face was mostly dominated by resigned irritation.  Right across him sat Urahara-san, his hat laid out beside him on the couch, and next to him, Kurosaki's father.  Uryū had half-expected to see him clad in full Soul Reaper regalia, but he was instead dressed in every day clothes.

 

Setting his teacup down on the mahogany table, Kurosaki's dad leaned forward, his face screwed up into what Uryū could only describe as half-hearted anger.  "Weren't you supposed to be studying?"

 

It was Uryū himself who responded.  "We were.  But Kurosaki forgot his textbook at school, so we decided to study here— Wait, you _wanted_ us out of the way?"

 

Letting out a sigh, Ryūken straightened himself up on his armchair, taking a sip off his cup.  "For the record, I had no plans to receive _any_ guests today.  And yet…"

 

"Did something happen?" Kurosaki said, his voice carrying a distinct edge of hysteria.  "In Soul Society?"

 

"No, there's no need to worry," Urahara-san said, leaning back against the couch, as sanguine as ever.  "We're simply here to have a discussion with Ishida-san, er, Senior, that is.  I was hoping he could be of help in filling in some of the gaps in my research."

 

There was no lie in Urahara-san's eyes, and yet Uryū knew him to be an accomplished enough liar when he needed to be.  His eyes strayed at once to both his and Kurosaki's father, looking for any signs of a different story there, but found none.  Still, the fact that this so-called _conversation_ had been planned out without their knowledge was cause enough for suspicion.  Especially since Urahara-san, of all people, hadn't considered inviting the _one_ person who had spent more time than anyone among the Wandenreich army.

 

"As a former member of the Sternritter," Uryū said, feigning nonchalance.  "I assume my input might also be of help?"

 

"Well, I…" Urahara-san began, but trailed off once he caught a glimpse of Ryūken.  He'd looked interested enough at the proposal, but his hesitation only confirmed what Uryū had suspected: they had been deliberately left out of this meeting.  "I will leave this up to your fathers to decide—"

 

"Absolutely not," Ryūken said at once.

 

"Oh, we're good enough to face Yhwach head-on," Uryū quipped.  "But when it comes to an _actual_ discussion—?"

 

"There is _nothing_ to discuss; this matter is over and done with—"

 

"Doesn't look done to me," Kurosaki piped in.  "Soul King position still vacant?" he said, turning to Urahara-san.  The older man merely shrugged and gave a somewhat apologetic jerk of his head.  "We're staying," Kurosaki said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 

Next to him, Uryū gave a firm nod, winding his arms against his chest tightly.

 

In a clear effort to nip an oncoming argument in the bud, Urahara-san spoke up the second he saw Ryūken gearing up for a rebuttal.  "If I may…" he said.  "The only living soul who may know anything about Pernida-san other than Captain Kurotsuchi is Ishida-san himself.  And I already have a copy of all of Captain Kurotsuchi's notes."

 

At the sound of this, Uryū nearly did a double take.  " _Pernida_?  You want to know—?  I thought this was about Yhwach."

 

"Also germane to the discussion," Urahara-san said with a nod.  "But at the moment, Pernida-san's… nature poses a more immediate concern.  And whereas Ishida-san Senior most likely has much to share about Yhwach himself, I don't expect—"

 

"And _that_ , is where you are mistaken," Ryūken cut him off.  "Uryū has already involved himself more than enough in the affairs of Soul Reapers; there is no need for him to sit in on this meeting when I could easily fill in the blanks—"

 

" _Excuse_ me, I think I'm _plenty_ qualified to talk about the rest of the Sternritter, _far_ more qualified than _you_ —"

 

"Are you now?" Ryūken said as he steepled his hands, an infuriatingly smug expression curling his lip.  "Then I assume you were aware Pernida was not actually a Quincy?"

 

His statement plunged the room into immediate silence.  As Uryū tried to look for support for his own disbelief, he met nothing but blank stares all around, save for Urahara-san.  Only he seemed to be unsurprised by Ryūken's words, but there was an added layer to his enigmatic expression, something akin to vindication.  Uryū had the distinct feeling his father had just unknowingly taken Urahara-san's bait.  He wouldn't be surprised if their unexpected arrival had proved to be fortuitous to Urahara-san, allowing him to use his rivalry with his father to draw the latter into saying more than he would have under different circumstances.

 

To be honest, he wouldn't be surprised to hear Urahara-san himself had planted Kurosaki's book back at the school, but that seemed to be a stretch even for the cunning shopkeeper.

 

Whatever Urahara-san's plan had been, Uryū did not allow himself to dwell on it any longer, far more interested in what his father had just uttered.

 

"What do you—?  Of _course_ Pernida was a Quincy," Uryū said. "I can tell Quincy reiatsu apart from—"

 

"Let me rephrase: were you aware that Pernida was not _originally_ a Quincy?"

 

As much as he took it as a personal insult, the implication that he could've missed something as significant as this, Uryū felt the stirrings of doubt bubble up in his chest, contaminating his every thought and forcing him to re-examine certain things he'd found puzzling from the beginning.  With a start, he realized that not only had he _never_ heard Pernida speak, he had also never once gotten a glimpse under their – _His, her?-_ ever-present hood.

 

Even so, his father's statement still made no sense.  "How does one even _become_ a—?" Uryū began, before realizing that this wasn't the most important question right now.  "Wait… if they weren't originally a Quincy, then what…?"

 

To his immense surprise, his father didn't take this opportunity to lord his ignorance over him.  Instead, he seemed to have come to the same realization his son had only seconds ago, and turned to the shopkeeper.  "Well, Urahara?  You didn't seem surprised by the revelation.  Surely _you_ can answer his question?"

 

Urahara-san's clever, gray gaze swept from his father to Kurosaki's and back again.  "Are we allowing Ishida-san and Kurosaki-san to stay, then?"

 

Kurosaki's father merely shrugged, plucking a manjū off the ornate bowl on the table and plopping it into his mouth.  "Fine by me."

 

Ryūken held out a little longer, seemingly at war with himself, but eventually, he rolled his eyes and gave an airy wave of his hand.

 

Sharing identical looks of foreboding, the two boys hurried over to the genkan to take off their shoes and marched back to the living room, wary of missing anything in the interim.  Uryū took his seat on an armchair adjacent to the couch, while Kurosaki took a seat next to Urahara-san.  The adults seemed to have kept their word and said nothing in their absence, save for Ryūken muttering in his butler's ear to bring another set of teacups.

Urahara-san went on as if there had been no pause in conversation, addressing him. "As your father quite astutely pointed out, Pernida-san was not always a Quincy; at least to my estimation," he said, then turned to Kurosaki.  "Yoruichi-san told me your encounter with Pernida-san was very brief, so what you may not know is that Pernida-san never displayed the kind of behavior one expects from… well… an intelligent being."

 

Kurosaki acknowledged this with a curt nod, his brow knit.

 

"Pernida could understand and execute commands perfectly, but I never once heard them speak," Uryū said, drawing the attention of the room to himself.  "It was clear that whoever was under that hood was powerful, though no more powerful than other members of the Sternritter.  And despite never voicing an opinion or anything of the sort, Pernida seemed to command a great amount of respect even among the Schutzstaffel.  Soon enough, I came to understand why: Pernida was said to be the Left Hand of the Soul King."

 

Kurosaki's eyes widened in recognition.  "I… I've heard about this.  The Hand of the Soul King, the Heart of the Soul King…" He turned to Urahara-san.  "What does that even mean?"

 

To both their surprise, it was Kurosaki's father who answered.  "It means that Pernida was the vessel for a part of the Soul King's power," he said. 

 

Uryū was suddenly reminded of the fact that Kurosaki Isshin had not only been a high-ranked member of the Gotei in his day, but also a scion of a noble family; a Shiba.  Much like Yoruichi-san, he seemed to know more about the inner workings of Soul Society than any round-of-the-mill Soul Reaper would. 

 

"Think of it like an emergency back-up, like what Ukitake did," Kurosaki's father said.  "He was the vessel for the Soul King's Right Hand, and he's the reason the worlds remained intact even after the Soul King was slain."

 

"But if the Soul King is… _was_ … a Soul Reaper…" Kurosaki said.  "Why would a part of them be stored within a Quincy?"

 

At the sound of that, Urahara-san gave his former student a smile behind the rim of his teacup.  " _That_ … is an excellent question.  The very one I've been trying to answer myself," he said.  "Ukitake-san makes sense.  But the two Quincy, Pernida-san and Gerard-san?  Less so.  And even between the two, Pernida-san seemed to be… special.  Different somehow." 

 

_No arguments there._

 

"Captain Kurotsuchi and former Lieutenant Kurotsuchi were the ones who took down Pernida-san," Urahara-san went on.  "And everything in Captain Kurotsuchi's report seemed to point toward a being capable of tremendously fast-paced evolution.  There is this saying in Soul Society that the Left Hand of the Soul King governs progress, evolution.  And according to Captain Kurotsuchi, Pernida-san exhibited constantly improving speech patterns the longer the battle went on.  More importantly… under the hood, it had the appearance of a _literal_ hand."

 

This time, even Kurosaki's father seemed to be stunned into silence.  Uryū himself was far too preoccupied with replaying the words in his head, trying to make certain he'd heard correctly, to chance a look at his father.

 

"……An _actual_ …?" Kusosaki Isshin said.

 

At this, Urahara-san gave a grin and a nod of understanding.  "I admit I thought Captain Kurotsuchi was having me on at first," he said.  "But Madarame-san, Ayasegawa-san and Yamada-san all corroborated his story down to the very last detail.  I do quite literally mean a giant hand," Urahara-san said, meeting every pair of eyes in the room for confirmation.  "It _is_ very strange, isn't it?  Strange even by the standards of everything we've seen over the past few months.  As soon as I was able to ascertain that this wasn't some sort of group hallucination, however, I began to form a theory."

 

This time, Uryū did venture a glance toward his father, prompted by Urahara-san himself who did the very same.

 

"You see it now, don't you, Ishida-san?"

 

Surely enough, the near-constant look of annoyance in Ryūken's features had been replaced with one of dawning realization.

 

"See what?" Uryū said.

 

"Ukitake-san was the Right Hand of the Soul King," Urahara-san said.  "However, his own form never changed similarly, not even after releasing the seal that kept the Soul King's power inside him.  But Pernida-san's did.  Why the discrepancy?  If whatever happened to rob Pernida of their speech and original form was the result of becoming the Soul King's hand, why would it not have happened to Ukitake-san as well?" 

 

"Time?" Kurosaki supplied.

 

"A good first guess in most circumstances," Urahara-san said with an approving nod.  "But no, not possible.  Ukitake-san was well over two thousand years old.  If he was meant to change form due to his status as a part of the Soul King, it would've happened long ago.  Gerard-san who _was_ actually a Quincy and a vessel of the Soul King's reiatsu also displayed no such change either.  The only reasonable explanation is that Pernida-san was different to begin with.  Not a Soul Reaper, nor a Quincy, but something more bestial than anthropomorphic, something whose very nature dictates that their form will shift to reflect aspects and characteristics of their unique reiatsu.  Namely, assuming the appearance of a _literal_ hand."

 

Uryū realized at that point that he _had_ personally witnessed several Soul Reapers –Kurosaki himself even- change form upon releasing the bankai state of their weapons, but the change, if applicable at all, was always limited to their outfit, or the weapon itself.  Perhaps even a minor change in appearance, but never, _ever_ a fundamental change in their humanoid form. 

 

And yet what Urahara was saying sounded eerily familiar, like something Uryū himself should be intimately familiar with—

  

The dawning realization hit him with the sudden force of a bolt of lightning.  "A Hollow."

 

"That is my assumption, yes," Urahara-san said.

 

Uryū couldn't help a quick glance toward his father, childish though it made him feel.  As much as Urahara-san's theory made sense, it tread upon every single thing he had ever been taught about the very nature of both Quincy and Hollows.  Even more worryingly, his father, who undoubtedly knew all of this as well, did not seem to share his confusion. 

 

 _What am I missing here?_   

 

"Pernida… was a Hollow?  But… They really _did_ become a Quincy eventually," Uryū said, convinced that his own senses couldn't have betrayed him so blatantly, not when he had been trained to identify the nature of any and all types of reiatsu since childhood.  "Quincy and Hollow reiatsu can't mix— How is that even poss—?"

 

 _Oh, but they can,_ said a small voice in the back of his mind.  _And the living proof is sitting right across you, in this very room._

 

Uryū felt his back break out in cold sweat as his eyes fell upon Kurosaki.  Soul Reaper, Quincy, Hollow and Human, all rolled into one.

 

Urahara-san seemed to have spotted this at once.  His own eyes flitting over his student momentarily, he addressed the room at large without missing a beat.  "It makes more sense once you understand who, or rather _what_ the Soul King is," he said.  "And Yhwach, for that matter."

 

_And… Kurosaki?_

 

"I mean no offense, but…" Uryū said, his eyebrows drawn together.  As much as this conversation was challenging everything he'd taken for granted in the past, making him eager to learn more, his earlier suspicion was now all but confirmed.  "You seem to know plenty already, Urahara-san.  What exactly is it that you wanted me or my father to contribute to your research?"

 

For once, Ryūken seemed to find nothing to criticize in his words.  With a scoff, he turned to Urahara-san.  "Confirmation for what he already suspects.  Among other things," he said.  "If information was all he was seeking he wouldn't be here.  I am well acquainted with Urahara's… _methods_.  He could have asked you to dig through the family archives and you would've done it."

 

 _I stand corrected,_ Uryū thought, glaring daggers at his father. 

 

There was no denying he probably _would_ have, but the way Ryūken had phrased it made it sound as though he would've blindly followed any order issued by Urahara-san.  As much as he trusted the shopkeeper to work toward a noble goal in the long run, his methods were often something Uryū had also found fault with.  Including his decision to use his rivalry with his father to play them against each other.  Thankfully, his father himself had realized this as well.

 

"No, the reason he's here in person is because he also has a request of a different nature in mind," Ryūken said.

 

Urahara-san did not challenge this, smiling his ubiquitous polite smile.

 

"A request?" Uryū said.

 

Ryūken ignored his question, never tearing his eyes off Urahara-san.  "Can I assume this is the same request you've made via envoys that have been traveling to and from Hueco Mundo lately?  And the same message you've been attempting to convey to the remaining Fullbringers?"

 

"Sharp as ever, Ishida-san," Urahara-san said with an inclination of his head.  "Not to mention well-informed.  You are, of course, right on all accounts."

 

"What's weird about that?" Kurosaki said; there was an odd wrinkle in his brow, as though he wasn't entirely in the dark where this so-called message was concerned, but unable to piece together its meaning all the same.  "Urahara-san is friendly with some Arrancar, and so am I.  And the Fullbringers helped us out, too—"

 

"It's weird," Uryū said, his eyes trained on the shopkeeper.  "Because aside from forming a brief alliance with Soul Reapers, there aren't exactly many things the Quincy, the Arrancar and the Fullbringers all have in common.  If anything at all."

 

Urahara-san gave him a rare smile, turning to his father.  "He really does take after you."

 

"Not _quite_ as much as I'd like, unfortunately, otherwise he wouldn't still be wearing that ridiculous expression," Ryūken said with an infuriating, long-suffering sigh. "Come on, boy, isn't it _obvious_?"

 

Fists and teeth clenched, Uryū willed himself to keep his voice from betraying his mounting anger.  "Isn't _what_ obvious?"

 

Ever the Drama Queen, his father steepled his hands once more, his cool, blue gaze focused straight on Urahara-san over the rim of his glasses.  "Urahara wants to create a new Hōgyoku."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DRAMATIC CHIPMUNK CLIP* Okay, okay, I know what y'all are thinking: why a NEW Hōgyoku? Why not use the existing one? More importantly, why would the guy who tried for a century to destroy the first NopeJewel create a second one? WHY, INDEED. Which is my way of saying… stay tuned; I will address all these perfectly legit concerns in the next chapter.
> 
> Hint for the impatient: the answer can actually be found within the two instalments for this chapter, but you'd either have to be passingly familiar with my overall Bleach theory, or share said theory yourself, or otherwise have guessed it from certain things left unsaid in the chapter. Aaaand that's all I'm going to say on this matter till next time. 
> 
> The following chapter should start featuring more characters. The first part had such an intense focus on Kisuke and Yoruichi because I couldn't just handwave the difficulties she faced in making this decision. They'll still feature prominently until the end of this mini arc, ie the ascension of the new Soul King and the birth of their child, but now I can start letting more players in and give meatier roles to some other fan favorites. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought! Till next time.


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